Hostage
by Valoofle
Summary: After being set free from the asylum, Wanda kidnaps one of the Acolytes in order to lure Magneto to the Brotherhood and avenge her lost childhood. But having a hostage isn't exactly what she expected... JONDA! Complete!
1. Cold and lonely

_A/N: This story came about because of writer's block on other things. Lovely turn of events that was. It WAS going to be a one-shot, but there was just way too much potential for fun in my head and there was no way I could let it go. Anyhoo, read and review, please!_

_Disclaimer: I am but a wee child. I own only a pair of mismatched socks. Sigh._

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Once upon a time there was a cold room where a lonely little girl lived. She was always alone, and she stared at the cold, lonely wall all day; and at night, she stared at the cold, lonely window, where there were no clouds in the cold, lonely sky. When she was very little, she was thrown into this cold, lonely place by a heartless old wizard, who cast an evil spell on her because he hated her for no reason. She was trapped here in this cold, lonely place, trapped in a white cocoon and sad all the time, and the spell could never, ever be broken, and her shining white knight never cared enough to come and rescue her from this dreadful place.

She was a princess, locked away in a frozen tower, a tower filled with pretend knights in white suits, holding tiny, sharp swords that could inject her with sleeping venom if she made any unexpected move. She was a dangerous princess, and they all told her she was incurable. She didn't know what she had done to deserve being in this cold room of misery, surrounded by swords and solitude and hopelessness and cold. It must have been something really bad; she must have been a very wicked daughter—she never should have spilled the milk over father at dinner! If only she could go back and change it and tell him she was very, very sorry and would never do it ever again… but that was impossible because the spell he had put her under would never go away, and she would always be tied up and cold and alone. Always, forever…

Once, her shining knight came to visit her, when she was still young, and she thought for sure that he would rescue her and take her to some safe place where people wouldn't fear her or think she was crazy or bad. He could have done it. He could have sped by the pretend knights and their venomous swords, and he could have saved her, but he didn't.

He didn't even try.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice so shaky, and he knelt beside her with shiny tears flooding down his face. He put his pale arms around her and gave her a big, wet kiss right on her cheek and he told her that maybe things would be better and maybe the world, maybe everything. He told her about the heartless old man who had trapped her here, and that one day things would work out, and he was so, so, _so_ sorry.

"You won't help me out?" she whispered, something prickling in the base of her throat. Something like sadness and rage and emotion.

"I'm sorry," he told her, and he stood up, wiping the sorrow from his eyes with the back of his hand and turning into the enemy forever. "I'll see you when I see you."

"Don't go!" she screamed, but he was gone, and she could not be pacified for weeks. She hated him. She hated every fiber of his being, hated the white walls around her, so like his hair, hated love, hated cold, and she pitied the world for making a revolution about the sun because it would never be free. There was a rage burning like never before deep inside her, and she remained in silence for very long.

Another person entered her prison, a man who smelled like sour and tasted like vomit, who liked to shove her to the cold wall and punch her with knuckles of steel and thrust a slimy tongue down her throat, taking away something sacred, but she was trapped and could not fight in her white cocoon. She was dead inside, and hated every person on this foul planet especially those who had brought her here. Hate is what kept her alive, but it was also what was killing her spirit, making her burn inside, causing screams to erupt from her mouth and the points of the ghosts' swords to inject her and shut her up.

Gone was the sweet little princess she had been when she was young and free, and here was the mean, powerful princess, who wanted revenge on those who had wronged her, on everyone in the whole world who ever looked like they enjoyed life; how dare they have happiness when she lived such a wretched existence? She knew that there was something very powerful tingling in her fingers, and whenever the white clad pretend knights had to move her, they seemed afraid. Afraid of a lonely, tied up girl who was a hostage within her own body. But she could do things... she could make lights flicker, and when her hand was free by accident once, she made all the TV monitors and security cameras explode into trillions of tiny pieces. If only she knew _how _she had done it, then maybe there would be justice in the world for once.

"I want to help you," said a shiny bald person, and she did not look at his face. He was too shiny, too much hope, too much freedom; she would never be free, free like him and free like the heartless old wizard who left her here, and the shining white knight that would never rescue her.

"I hate you," she told him, in her angry voice because it was all that was left inside now. "I hate you, and I hate my father, and he will pay for what he's done to me. I will make him pay."

"Wanda, please…" he reasoned.

"Go away!" she bellowed, and he did. She didn't really want him to go, since she hadn't had any company for such a long time, but he left. She feared that he was gone forever, but he came back every now and again to talk to her and calm her nerves sometimes. Sometimes.

It was still cold and still lonely and she still longed for a day when her father's spell would be broken, and she could be free. Revenge and destruction would be the first thing she told him, and afterwards, perhaps then she would truly be free. He knew nothing of pain, nothing of misery, nothing, not until she told him what it was like through a firsthand experience. She looked forward to it, plotting and scheming with every fiber in her body and soul, and knew that one day something would set her free. And it happened.

The woman turned from a pretend knight into another person entirely; she could do strange things, and so could Wanda. But Wanda was different, and Wanda had not much control. She had control over nothing, nothing at all in her life, but now that could change. She could turn everything around.

"You are free, Wanda," said the now blue woman, before she left that night, after Wanda had attempted to kill her own brother and the rest of the brotherhood, just because they were near him and didn't seem at all inclined to murder him. He deserved to be murdered for leaving her there! In that horrible place where she had nothing but hurt and loneliness. How dare he.

But now she had a plan.

Magneto knew that she had been set free from the nightmare he had stuck her in when she was only seven years old. That was why he was in hiding. He was hiding somewhere like the coward he was, and he probably had his minions set up around him as protection. His minions were more important to him than his own damn daughter! She knew this and resented it more than anything. Why, Magneto might even come out of hiding to save one of those damn Acolytes! He'd save a worker, but not his own daughter. What a bastard.

She plotted and brainstormed for days upon days, days of training and focusing her energy. She worked as hard as she possibly could to focus her energy and make herself control everything she could. As Wanda crept into the base two weeks later, she decided to increase the odds of Magneto coming out to visit his precious daughter, because she knew he wouldn't unless she added some sort of a catch, something that would make him have to come. She decided to take a hostage.

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It was approximately 1:45 in the dead of the night. Everything was silent, and Wanda kept her mind clear so she could be in control of everything controllable. In truth, she had no idea where she was going, and figured that the first person who she stumbled across would be her unlucky hostage.

Wanda took a silent turn into a long hallway, spotting a cluster of doors near the end of it, each with a name posted in the middle of the door. Gambit, Colossus, Mastermind, Sabertooth, Pyro.

Gambit… no. Gambling; she wouldn't deal with someone gambling with her. Colossus... it sounded too big to deal with, especially if she was going to hide the hostage somewhere, somewhere like her closet, or under her bed. Mastermind… she didn't want some Acolyte who was going to play mind games with her. Sabertooth... it sounded too lethal. That left Pyro. Pyro… fire. Fire was not a big deal. Deciding that Pyro was her hostage to be, she cracked her knuckles as preparation, certain that any Acolyte of Magneto's would not come without a fight. Almost excited at the prospect of a good fight, Wanda pressed his bedroom door open a tiny notch, peering to see what was inside.

There was a red-haired man sitting at a chair at a desk, his back facing toward her and his bent elbow on the desk, a hand propped under his chin like he was in deep thought.

"Whaddaya want?" he mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion and an accent she couldn't place. She inched closer, barely breathing, hoping that he wouldn't turn around. He sighed, raising the hand not under his chin up to scratch the back of his head. "Didn't I tell you, Rem, that once midnight is past, I don't want you in here?"

Wanda felt a smile creep slowly across her face; this was going to be too easy. She was within touching distance; she could grab him by the hair if she wanted, but as of now, it wasn't necessary.

"Go away already, you bloody—" he turned his head and faltered, his face suddenly becoming very pale. "Oh. You're not Remy."

"No, I'm not," Wanda said darkly, stifling the laugh that wanted to escape.

He jumped to his feet, his body bending backwards over the desk because she was too close to him for him to stand regularly. "It's awful brave of you to come in here all alone, shiela," he glared at her. "You oughta leave now… before things get out of hand."

"I think I can handle myself," Wanda said, leaning more forward so he would bend his body back more and more awkwardly. His two hands pressed on the desk behind him, and his fingers scrabbled around the table, and Wanda knew what he was looking for just as he found it.

The flames from the lighter sprang out at her, jumping like animals onto her hair, her clothes, her arms, her legs. For a moment, Wanda smirked, suddenly quite at peace with the world, loving her power of control, for she did not feel the flames that should have been killing her; she felt tickles of warmth, because it was not under Pyro's command anymore. It was under hers.

"Ha!" Wanda crowed, throwing her arms down , and the fire surrounding her died. Her fingertips burned with energy, blue electricity that lit up the dim room as she brought her hands up, and then shoved him towards the small table he had just been sitting at. He flopped onto his back on the desk, scattering papers everywhere, almost flipping over it.

"Hey!" he cried, but her hand pressed him down firmly on the tabletop, her graceful fingers circling gently around his neck. His skin was so soft, so warm, so alive… so everything she had never been allowed to have when she was trapped in that hellhole her father had left her in. His shiny blue eyes were wide and desperate and didn't know what to expect. She could do anything to him, anything at all…

She leaned close to him, vulnerable on the table. And then someone called out—"Hey, Johnny! What the hell are you doing in there?"

Wanda glared at the door, and her victim exclaimed, "Remy!"

She glanced furiously at him, and roughly tugged him off the table, dragging him into his closet where she pulled the door shut after them, just as the bedroom door creaked open.

"Where are you, Johnny?" Remy's voice asked. "Don't tell me you're trapped under your bed again."

"Hey, that was an accident!" John protested, and Wanda pressed him against the wall of the closet, trying to shut him up. His warm body wriggled unsuccessfully to break free, and Wanda was stunned again at how high his body's temperature was, especially since it was late December, and in her life, she had never felt anything but cold before. Her body pressed his back, gladly absorbing the heat.

"You're in the closet," Remy's voice commented, sounding like he was grinning. "Can Remy ask why?"

The doorknob turned.

"No!" Wanda exclaimed. "Don't come in here."

"Johnny, you've got a femme?" Remy asked incredulously.

"Yep," Wanda said, her fingers covering Johnny's now smiling mouth, anticipating a smart comment. "And we're a little busy here, so would you mind going away?"

"But of course," Remy said, and after a moment, the door slammed shut. Wanda looked up at John, pressed against the wall, his body struggling to break away.

She smiled. "Goodnight, Johnny," she said, charging a hex bolt and touching her charged hand to the back of his head. He fell limp in her arms, unconscious, and she brought him back to the Brotherhood, to begin the plan.

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Dead weight was so heavy... especially the dead weight of a grown man, and Wanda could feel her energy draining as she dragged him up to her bedroom, her focus slipping slowly away. The alternative, aside from dropping him in the middle of the staircase was to bring him back to consciousness so she could focus on asking him the questions about himself so Magneto would know exactly who she had as a hostage, when she sent him the message describing what would happen to this hostage if Magneto did not come to the rescue. Oh, yes... this would be fun.

She released her mental hold on him, feeling her mind strengthen as she dragged his barely conscious body to her room. She locked the door to her room and shoved him into her bed, roughly knocking him onto his knees and pressing his face into the covers. He groaned pitifully, and she grabbed a handful of his hair in her fist, lifting his head up.

"Tell me your full name," she demanded, lifting his T shirt up, then began ripping the fabric to get it off, then threw it to the ground, with one hand.

"Hey!" he protested, suddenly wide awake, one hand reaching up and clutching hers on the top of his head, on his hair. "That was my favorite shirt! You owe me big, lady!"

"I don't owe you anything," she said simply, shaking him roughly by the top of his head to silence him. "What's your last name, Firefly? Should I guess? Is it Smith?"

He smirked, tears of pain sparkling in his eyes. "You wanna play guessing games?"

Wanda began to undo the belt he was wearing, her motions becoming more irritated and harsh, slapping at his exposed skin when he jerked around. She managed to tug his jeans off, leaving him in only his mismatched socks and turtle patterned boxer shorts. For a moment, she felt a twinge of wonder. What sort of minion of Magneto wore such innocent undergarments? It just didn't make sense. He jerked his body suddenly, trying to break free again.

"That hurts!" he snapped, scowling as she slapped the back of his bare thigh. "I didn't do anything to you, shiela—"

"Just tell me your damn name," she told him, "and maybe you won't get hurt as much in the process."

"My name is Johnny," he said, his voice muffled. "You know it already. Now let me go."

"You're my hostage," Wanda told him. "You're not going for awhile."

He frowned as she roughly turned him onto his back and inspected his body up and down. He did not look like he was concealing anything harmful in his turtle shorts.

"You like it rough, little girl?" he sneered, his face slightly flushed as she held him down with one hand on his bare chest. Appalled at him, Wanda raised her hand and slapped him in the face, jarring his head to the side, hard enough to leave a red mark.

"Oww…" he groaned, gingerly touching the red mark with the tips of his fingers. "You're awful strong, lady. Where do you work out?"

"Shut up," Wanda said, trying to make her voice sound as professional as possible. She aggressively frisked him, her hand visiting many places in his turtle shorts to verify that he was hiding nothing. His bright blue eyes were wide with surprise, and she slapped the side of his thigh, indicating that he should roll over back onto his belly of his own volition, or he might regret it.

"You don't have to be so forceful," he commented, obeying slowly. "I got it, you're rough, but you're going a bit overboard."

Scowling, Wanda reached down and cruelly pinched him on the buttocks, using her long nails to dig into his flesh.

John shrieked, and tried to push himself up, but Wanda kept him down.

"You have to listen to me," she warned calmly. "I don't want to have to hurt you."

"Oww…" he moaned, keeping his face buried in the covers on her bed.

"Now, tell me your first and last name," she instructed.

"St. John Allerdyce," he said, sounding muffled. "You could call me Johnny, or Pyro, or whatever you feel like. My mother used to call me 'you ungrateful bastard'."

Wanda smiled with satisfaction. "And how old are you?"

"Nineteen." He sighed. "And you?"

"That's not important right now," she told him sternly, snatching a roll of duct tape off of her beside table and ripping a relatively large piece off with her teeth. She gathered his wrists together and then wrapped the tape very tightly around them. Once certain that his hands were not free, she bent and began to tape his ankles together. Wanda got to her feet and retrieved a roll of twine, and proceeded to reinforce the bindings around his wrists and ankles.

"There," she said, sounding pleased. "How does that feel, John?"

"How long are you keeping me here?" he asked, not lifting his head.

"I don't know," Wanda said, her voice dangerous. "As long as it takes for Magneto to start needing his precious Acolyte back."

"He's not gonna come after me," John said flatly, turning his head and eyeing her. "You obviously don't know him that well."

"I know him _very_ well, thank you," Wanda snapped. "Why don't you just shut up while you're ahead?"

"I didn't realize I was ahead," he said.

"Do you want another pinch?" Wanda threatened, looking down at his rear end again.

"No," he said hastily, and then kept quiet for a moment. "Can I get some clothes soon? I'm feeling rather conscious right now, and it's a bit chilly in here."

"You'll get clothes when I see fit," Wanda said sharply, ripping off another lengthy piece of tape from the roll. "Any more questions, John?"

"What happens if I escape?" he asked, a little glint appearing in his eye. It may have been mischief. It also may have been fear.

Wanda arched an eyebrow. "Do you _like_ pain, John?"

"Not usually. _Maybe_ if it's foreplay."

She pursed her lips and refrained from striking him, lest he continue to think dirty thoughts. "I'm very creative," she told him. "I'll think of something." She smiled at him, mostly to confuse him. She patted him on the top of his spiky hair, running her lethal fingernails through the softness of it. He was so soft… so alive. A creature so fascinating because of how different he was from her. He was even attractive, with bright eyes and pouty lips, and he had a stubbornness that would be fun to conquer.

"I suppose I'll see you later then," Wanda said, pressing the tape she had in her hand onto his moping mouth, and she smoothed the sides down so it would be good and stuck. His brows furrowed into a forehead frown, and she hoisted him off of her bed, then opened her little closet. There wasn't much in there to behold, only one pair of shoes and a pile of dirty clothes.

She shoved him into the pile and slammed the door behind him. At an afterthought, she moved her bedside table in front of the closet door, just in case.

And then Wanda lay in her bed, the bed where her hostage had been smothered into, and she tried to sleep. Dreams of powerful princesses being locked away for years and years, waiting for their shining white knight to save them, plagued her.

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_Reviews would be very nice!_


	2. An Escape

_Author's Note: I love the few people who reviewed! There's only a few of you, but I love you all the same. I wasn't sure that I would ever have more inspiration for this because of my school schedule and my distraction, but then school was cancelled for 4 days! It was crazy. So I stayed up all night and wrote this little chapter!!! Yay!! But you must REVIEW!!!!!! _

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Wanda awoke at noon to the sounds of scraping and whimpering. Like a wounded animal trying to escape the car that had just run over it's hind legs. Staggering and crying and weak. The poor dear. She wanted to help but it wasn't real. It must have been a part of some dream.

The sound was coming from her closet.

"What's in my closet?" Wanda asked out loud, scratching the side of her neck. Frowning, she got to her feet and took a step toward the closet, when she heard a bold knock on her bedroom door.

"What do you want?" she demanded, knowing it was Pietro. He was the only one who knocked like he was king of the world. Which he would never be.

"Do you want breakfast?" asked her pathetic excuse for a brother. "I can make you some, if you want."

She frowned at the doorknob, very much wanting him to make her food, but not wanting to be courteous about it. "Yeah," she said. "But no fat free shit, or else I'll shove it up your—"

"I got it covered," he interrupted, and she heard him disappear downstairs. Scowling and muttering to herself, she pulled her shirt off over of her head, ready to change into the most evil looking gothic clothes she owned so she could frighten the boys away. Especially that infernal Toad boy. All of the boys except for him seemed to be extremely intimidated by her. Except for Pietro sometimes. Sometimes. It had it's ups and downs.

Wanda flung her closet door open, her eyes searching for a blood red, formfitting top when she heard a startled squeak beneath her. And she suddenly remembered that her closet had been making sounds just a few moments earlier, and she remembered that late last night she had kidnapped a red headed man from Magneto's top secret base and tied him up and locked him in her closet, and he was still in there, and she wasn't wearing a shirt.

Wanda slammed the door shut, rage boiling inside. Muttering expletives under her breath, she picked up the shirt she had just removed and pulled it back on, hating the day already.

"Wanda, your food is ready," Pietro called from downstairs.

"I'M COMING!!" she bellowed, and the lights flickered dangerously. She threw her closet door open again, and pulled John into a sitting position by his hair. He smiled through his duct taped mouth, even though the strain on his head had probably hurt. She warned, "If you speak, I will murder you while you sleep. Got that?"

He nodded obediently, and she seized the corner of the tape and yanked as hard as humanly possible.

"BLOODY HELL!!" he bellowed. Wanda clasped her hand to his mouth, pressing him down to the pile of dirty clothes on her closet floor.

"What did I tell you?" she growled, her face close to his.

"Are you letting me free yet?" he asked through her fingers.

"No." she rolled her eyes. "Are you crazy?"

He smiled at her, his lips dark and red from the recent abuse from the tape. "Not as crazy as you."

She slapped him again, roughly knocking his head to the side. "Don't speak anymore. I only took your tape off because I wanted to make sure you were still functioning properly, and I can see that you are, so that's that."

"No, wait!" his bright blue eyes went wide. "I've gotta use the loo."

"And what, pray tell, is _that_?" Wanda asked.

"You know," he raised his eyebrows, like she should know. "The john."

"Don't play games with me, John," she said, blatantly losing her patience. "Tell me what the hell it is."

He frowned, trying to think. "Uhh… I don't remember its other name right now. You're making me nervous, and I've only been in this country for a few months."

"I don't have time for this," Wanda told him, pressing the tape back onto his mouth. He panicked and began kicking his legs to the best of his ability. "Don't worry," she said, lightly patting the side of his face, the side she had slapped. "I'll be back in a few minutes, right after I eat. I have to get some information out of you."

He squeezed his eyes shut and hummed loudly behind the duct tape, seeming desperate and trying to attract her attention, but Wanda figured it wasn't important. She shut the closet door and went down to the kitchen.

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Wanda scarfed her breakfast down and halfheartedly thanked her brother, since it had been a fairly decent meal, and it was true that he hadn't been forced to do it. Of course he was trying to win her over, but she could care less about the motives.

She sat on the couch after her breakfast, thinking of what things she should put in the ransom note for Pyro. Obviously, his name, his age… maybe his country of origin, height and weight statistics perhaps? No, she wouldn't need to go too into it… just make it straight and to the point.

"Whatcha doing?" asked a familiar voice, and a light weight fell onto the couch beside her.

"None of your business," Wanda snapped, glaring at the vermin who dared to call himself her twin brother.

"Oh, okay…" he trailed off. "Is it okay if I sit here?"

"Have I thrown you out the window yet?" she stared furiously at him. "Quit asking stupid questions."

Pietro frowned. "You don't have to be so mean to me, Wanda. You're my sister. I'm just trying to get along with you."

"Well, you don't have to talk," she growled. "Just shut up."

"I'm sorry." He bit his lip nervously and paused. "What do you want to do for the holidays? They're coming pretty soon, you know."

"I don't know," she said stiffly. "I've never had any before, so how can I decide?"

"Look," Pietro frowned, "I'm sorry you were stuck in that place, but can't you just get over it? Can't we just start over and forget about it?"

"_You_ spend ten years in an asylum and then tell me to forget about it!" she exclaimed, snatching him by the front of his shirt, the channels on the TV flipping back and forth. "You should be glad I haven't killed you yet! How dare you leave me in that hellhole when you know how fast you are? You could have rescued me, but you _didn't_. You obviously didn't care, not one little bit."

"I do care!" he cried, his hands groping at hers, trying to make her stop breaking his shirt. "I really do! I was scared…"

"You don't have any _idea_ what it was like for me!" Wanda shook him, and suddenly, the television set exploded, shooting debris and sparks everywhere, setting fire to the tablecloth of the table in front of the set.

Lance scurried into the room at the sound of the explosion.

"Oh, Wanda," he said, probably unafraid of her rage since he hadn't done anything to cause her harm. This one, from the look of it, was all on Pietro. Lance glared at Pietro. "You made her blow up our TV. Are you happy now?"

"Where's the fire extinguisher?" Pietro asked, hastily dislodging himself from Wanda's iron grip.

"In the kitchen," Lance said, but suddenly, the fire disappeared with a soft whoosh of air.

"Good idea, Wanda," Pietro said, assuming Wanda had just swept the blaze away with the same power she had destroyed it with.

"I didn't do that…" Wanda whispered, an epiphany rushing into her brain like children to the playground. _Pyro…_ Cursing loudly, she hurried up the stairs and into her room, where the closet was wide open and where John was nowhere to be seen.

She left her bedroom, her eyes searching the hall for any sign of movement. He couldn't have gone very far; not even a minute had passed… he was still here somewhere. Hiding. Hiding with fire.

Stricken with an idea, Wanda focused all her energy and all her mind on the lights, trying to cut them out. Focus, just like Agatha Harkness had told her to do.

There was a tremor in the hall, and all the lights flickered… and then blacked out.

Delighted with her success, Wanda almost missed the light from the flames in the corner of the hall, behind a potted plant. A very flammable potted plant.

Knowing that he was caught, John jumped out from behind the plant and threw a fireball at her, cackling evilly, his face illuminated by the bright flames, alive and untamed. Wanda extended her two hands and caught the flaming ball with ease.

"I bet you thought you were gonna win this, huh?" Wanda taunted, throwing the ball back at him, grinning as he just barely caught it.

"It ain't over yet!" he retorted, throwing two balls of fire, and torching the poor potted plant. Wanda held out her two hands to stop them; she held them in midair and slowly advanced on him, holding the two fireballs in her hands.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you that if you play with fire, you'll get burned?" Wanda asked, smashing her two hands together to create one gigantic ball of flames. She held it in one hand and then shrunk it down from the size of a beach ball to a golf ball.

"She did," he said, the echo of a smirk on his face. "But I _liked_ the burn."

And with that, he pulled the flames from the burning tree and drew them up between them, in the form of a giant flaming monster, with claws and sharp teeth, with mean little eyes and halitosis that smelled like smoke.

Wanda bent her own fingers into angry claws and poof! The flames were gone. She reached out and grabbed John by his upper arm, and before he could even make a motion of protest, she knocked a hex bolt into the back of his head, and knocked him into the world of unconsciousness. Again.

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_A/N: REVIEW!!! REVIEW!!! REVIEW!!! NOW!!! HURRY! IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD IF YOU DON'T!!_


	3. Water and Ransom Notes

_A/N: I love people who review… therefore, thanks to everyone who reviewed! You guys make my world filled with happiness and sunshine! And chocolate, if I'm feeling crazy. _

_Disclaimer: OMG I forgot this last time, but you all know I don't own anything. Come on, now, let's be reasonable._

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A sharp shiver traveled down Wanda's spine as she brought her hostage's limp body back into her bedroom, and she realized that it was winter. Winter was cold. Her hostage might be cold; he might even freeze to death in her pitiful little closet. He was only wearing his turtle underwear. While it was true that without any extra clothes, he wouldn't be able to wriggle out of her grasp or hide anything in a pocket, he also would most definitely freeze if she did not clothe him properly. And of what use was he to her if he was frozen and sick?

Sighing in exasperation, Wanda laid his limp body on her bed and looked through her closet, knowing she didn't have much in here that would fit a 19 year old man. Most of the clothes she owned were meant to accentuate her body's natural curves, curves that Johnny did not have. She glared at his lifeless form, still keeping her concentration focused on him, and she left her bedroom and went to Pietro's.

Pietro had the largest wardrobe she had ever known for a male to have. Surely he would not notice if she borrowed one outfit from him to clothe her hostage. She found a windbreaker, a T-shirt, and a pair of sweatpants that looked like they might fit John, so she took them and carefully closed Pietro's closet, making sure nothing looked out of place, because he would surely notice something had been taken if she left it out of order.

Wanda had never realized how difficult it was to dress another human being, especially one that didn't help by moving their arms into the right places, or shift to make things easier. She was on the verge of giving up when she finally managed to get the shirt on him, and she decided that she never wanted to become a mother, not ever. Too much work, too much compassion, too much skin…

Skin with burns. She noticed that John had very many burn scars on his body, and she wondered why, especially when controlling fire was his special mutant ability. She knew that she had flares of being unable to control herself; but did he?

Scowling to herself, Wanda roughly pulled John into a sitting position, trying to pull Pietro's pants over his hips with great difficulty due to the slight difference in posterior size. But she managed to get them on, and she turned his body onto his stomach, slightly pleased that there was nothing to trouble her as she tied him back up.

"There," she commented, hefting his body up against her so it would be easier to bring him back to the closet. His head rolled lifelessly into her neck, and the tips of his hair brushed her skin, as light as air. Even when he was out cold, he was as warm as the sun shining on her back during the summers so long ago. He was limp and lifeless and unconscious, but he _felt_ so alive…

Suddenly, Wanda remembered that in order for people to survive, they need to eat and drink, and get healthy sleep. She hadn't fed him, and he had been here for at least 12 hours. At least. And he had already escaped once. What a handful he was proving to be.

She laid him in the closet and pressed a new, thicker piece of duct tape over his lips, and she closed the door behind him, making sure that her bedside table was firmly planted into the carpet in front of the closet before she released her mental hold on him.

And then she went downstairs, feeling refreshed. All of the Brotherhood boys were sitting around the remains of the TV set, trying to figure out what to do. The TV had been their primary source of entertainment, especially when there was nothing to do outside in the bitter cold and no snow so far.

"Do you think you can fix this, Wanda?" Pietro called, instantly aware of her presence.

"Nope," Wanda said, walking right into the kitchen and barely glancing at the boys in the living room. She opened the refrigerator, her eyes searching for something quick to eat, something that wouldn't take too much time to feed to someone else.

"Whatcha looking for, snookums?" asked a nauseating voice, a voice that was unafraid of her. Of all the creatures in the world, why did the repulsive one have to be the one that was unafraid?

"Food," Wanda said curtly, not wanting to prolong the conversation.

"Didn't Pietro just make you breakfast?" Todd asked, inserting his pinky finger into his ear and twisting it to remove the ear junk.

"Yes," she growled, pulling a plate of cold macaroni out of the fridge. She turned to the microwave and shoved it in, pressing the numbers and tapping her foot impatiently.

"I love a girl with a big appetite," said Todd dreamily.

"You disgust me," Wanda stated, glaring at the microwave and making it five times more powerful than it ordinarily was. Just to hurry it along.

"You're gonna blow that thing up," he pointed to the shaking kitchen appliance. Wanda rolled her eyes.

"Like the TV," she scoffed, but then remembered how John had escaped. It was because of her, her letting her emotions get the best of her. She released the microwave from her hold and strode to the living room where the boys all were, trying to figure out some wires.

"Hey, boys," she announced. "Listen up for a moment. We need to get some things straight around this house here. Some new rules."

The boys stared at her like she was an alien with ten heads, and all of them were speaking gibberish. This only served to aggravate Wanda, since she was sure that she was being polite and using terms that everyone could understand.

"Okay," she continued. "Rule number one: No fires allowed. No flames of any sort in this house anymore."

"But what if it's an accident?" Todd asked reasonably, since the Brotherhood was notorious for its accidents.

"NO ACCIDENTS!!!" Wanda bellowed, and they boys went, if possible, even more silent than before. She paused, and then sweetly added, "Any other questions?"

"Does that include fires on the stove?" Fred ventured.

"Yes it does," Wanda said. "No fires _whatsoever_ from now on. No matter what."

"There's only one rule?" Lance asked.

"Yes," Wanda said, and she heard the microwave ding. "Well, that's all."

"Are you hungry again, already?" Pietro asked. "I could've made you something else if you wanted. It wouldn't have taken any time at all…"

"They didn't feed me well at the institute," Wanda snapped, stalking to the kitchen to pick up the little bowl of macaroni. She picked up a fork, an untouched bottle of water, and some napkins and she started up the stairs.

"Wanda…" Pietro started after her.

"Rule number two!" Wanda exclaimed, waving the fork at her brother. "No one is allowed in my room without _my_ permission. And I mean _no one_. No exceptions!"

She slammed the door to her bedroom, hearing the sound of breaking glass downstairs, the result of her hot temper. She hoped it was a piece of the TV set. Almost smiling because of the mild mayhem she had caused so far today, she pulled the bedside table from against the closet door and set the plate and the other things on top of it. She pushed a pile of clothes aside and brought a wooden chair up next to the table with everything on it. And now came the hard part.

Wanda opened the closet door, bent over, and in one fluid motion, she ripped off the duct tape covering John's mouth. Knowing that he might scream, she instantly clamped her hand over his mouth and effectively muffled the curse words he was shouting.

"You're mean," he told her, his eyes glinting with hurt and frustration. "I told you Magneto ain't gonna come for me. You're better off just letting me go and not wasting your time."

"Now is not the time to criticize my actions," she told him, pulling him to his feet by the front of his shirt. "_You're_ better off just keeping quiet and telling me exactly what I need to know."

"I don't know anything," he said, and she shoved him into the wooden chair. He frowned at what was on the table. "What's all that?"

"I'm feeding you today," Wanda said, pulling up a spinny chair and planting herself in front of him. "Don't you feel lucky?"

"I'll say," he said sarcastically. "I'd feel even more lucky if you decided to untie me and let me loose."

"Fat chance," she said, smirking, and she stabbed the fork into the plate. "Open your mouth."

He frowned again, not appearing to like the idea of being force fed by this dangerous girl who was bent on killing her own father and not above kidnapping a perfectly innocent man to lure him over. Not to mention that the idea of being dependent on someone else was a perfectly awful idea, especially after he had worked so hard to become independent and on his own.

But he reluctantly opened his mouth, and Wanda pushed the fork in, careful not to impale him with the points. This was harder than she thought. After a few minutes of feeding him, she decided that she was able enough to talk and do this at the same time.

"So," Wanda said, wiping his lips dry with her thumb. His eyes watched her hand, some emotion she didn't understand in his gaze. "What brought you to work under Magneto?"

He gave her a half smile. "I don't know. I like to live on the edge."

"Oh, really?" Wanda smirked. "You'll love it here, then." She pushed the fork into his mouth again, so he couldn't respond, and she waited for him to swallow before saying, "You know what I mean, John. Tell me about your circumstances. What brought you to him? Then maybe I won't be so rough to you during our time together."

"Aw," said John, licking his lips, and grinning like a Cheshire cat. "But that'll be no fun."

Wanda arched an eyebrow. She kept silent for a moment, not knowing if she should strike him or just ignore it or continue questioning him, or what. She had never been flirted with before, and wondered if that was what he was doing.

"Tell me about your powers," she said.

"I can control the majestic flame," he announced promptly, almost as if he had had that answer planned all along.

"Right," Wanda said. "But that's it?"

"What do you mean, 'that's it'?!" John cried, his words muffled because she had just pushed more macaroni into his mouth. "That's a bloody amazing ability!" He swallowed, seeming offended. "I'm the luckiest mutant in the whole bloody world!"

"But you can't produce your own fire," she observed, and he seemed to sadden at this.

"No, no, I can't," he sighed wistfully. "Boy, if I could though…"

"Where are you from?" she asked, after giving him several more portions.

"Australia," he shrugged. "Can't you tell?"

"No," she said, somewhat defensively. "I'm not good with accents. I was locked up for ten freaking years; what do you expect?"

"Sorry," he said hastily, noticing her mood shift. "Everyone can tell. I just thought—"

"Shut up," she told him, feeling anger boil through her insides, and part of it was directed toward him, for making her think about that dreadful place that was always cold and always lonely. How _dare_ he make her think about it?

The lights flickered on and off, and Wanda roughly shoved the fork into his mouth, just barely missing slicing him.

"Hey, now…" he said, swallowing, sounding quite nervous now. "Calm down there, shiela. I didn't mean no harm; I only assumed—"

"Just _be quiet_," Wanda snapped, feeding him the last few mouthfuls of the macaroni. She then grabbed him by the chin and forcefully tipped his head back, ignoring his cry of protest. She pressed the top of the filled water bottle to his mouth and began to pour, even though he was clearly not ready to drink at the moment, not at all. "Drink," she commanded.

He tried to obey, but she had him at such an angle that it was near impossible to swallow correctly, and he began to cough, while she continued to force the water into his mouth. Wanda sneered, for a moment thoroughly enjoying watching him choke on the water. Water spilled down his face and soaked his collar and he squeezed his eyes shut as he coughed and sputtered. She wondered if it was possible to kill him like this, but then the water ran out. All over his face and his shirt. But he was still coughing.

Wanda released his chin, allowing him the freedom to gasp and breathe for a moment. She gently patted his shoulders, feeling a mix of satisfaction and slight remorse. Only slight, though. The feeling of power that she had experienced was probably the best feeling in the world, the best feeling that she had ever felt in her entire life. She had almost had his life in her hands. He was her hostage. He was in her control. Her complete control! If she didn't want him to eat, then he wouldn't! If she didn't want to take him out of the closet, then there he would stay!

But she couldn't be that mean. He hadn't really done anything against her, except work for the worst man in the world.

"Sorry," she said quietly, only halfway meaning it. She rested her hand on the nape of his neck.

John arched an eyebrow. "You're crazy," he told her, his voice weak.

Wanda squinted her eyes at him, then flicked the tip of his nose. "Whatever." She patted his face dry with the napkins, and then pulled him to his feet by the wet front of his shirt again. He coughed mildly, and she brought him back to the closet door, this time with much difficulty, as he was struggling much more than before.

"Are you full?" she asked, sitting him on the pile of clothes in the closet.

"I suppose," he said, glaring up at her with eyes filled again with hurt and frustration.

"Do you have to use the bathroom yet?" she asked.

"Oh!" he pursed his lips. "I already went. When I got free, that's where I went."

"Okay, then," Wanda said, grabbing the dreaded roll of duct tape off of her bedside table again. "So, you'll be good in here for a few more hours, right?"

"Magneto's _not_ coming for me!" he told her, scowling. "You're a silly girl, for thinking this will work. I'm not that important, you know!"

She tore a piece of the tape off, gritting her teeth. "I'm prepared to keep you here as long as necessary," she said.

"So basically, I'm gonna grow old and die in here," he commented, resting his head on the wall behind him. "Are you really that insensible? I didn't even do anything to you. I don't really even know you. I'm only nineteen years old. How will you feel knowing you're keeping a man locked in a small space in the prime of his life?"

"Not really that bad," she said with a shrug. "Because that's life. Goodnight."

"So… can I get a goodnight kiss?" he asked, his voice not serious, but arching an eyebrow almost suggestively, and she pressed the tape to his mouth, ignoring the question entirely.

"I'll see you later, Pyro," she said, smiling brightly and ruffling his hair with her hand.

He groaned loudly, seeming so miserable that it was almost sad to close the door. But she did, and moved the table back in front of it.

Wanda sat on her bed and took out a pad of paper. And she began production of the ransom note. It went something like this:

"Dear Magneto.

I have kidnapped one of your Acolytes, the 19 year old Australian, known to you as Pyro. If you ever want to see him again, you will show up at Elysian Fields at midnight tomorrow (Thursday), and you will show up alone. We have some matters to discuss.

Love, Wanda."

Wanda smiled, feeling proud of herself over her writing, and proud over her plan. Elysian Fields was an empty place almost in the middle of nowhere; there would be nothing metallic in the area for him to toy with. With or without metal, she was sure she could defeat him, but she wanted to be sure she had all the advantages there were to be had.

She went back downstairs and made Todd put her letter in the mail. That poor, froggy boy would do anything for her, and she figured that she may as well take advantage of it for however long it lasted.

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_A/N: And the plot thickens!! Review!! Next chapter soon to come! REVIEW!!! _


	4. Cinnamon Pop Tart

_A/N: Bathrooms are fun. That being said, just remember to review, and everything will be okay, and I won't cry at night…_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

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Wanda awoke when she felt a very uncomfortable breeze brush against her legs. It was a cold, wintery morning, and some _idiot_ had come in here and opened her damn curtains. Those stupid boys... Hadn't that been one of the rules? No one comes into her room, _ever?_

The digital clock beside her bed read 11:23 AM. Ordinarily, she wouldn't wake up if it was before noon, but now that she was already conscious, why not?

Wanda groaned as she sat up, caught between the desire to maim someone and the desire to go back to bed and never come out again. Remembering that there was someone in her closet, she pulled some clothes out of her dresser and changed in the room, and actually brushed her hair and groomed herself. Today could be a good day, and her mood was beginning to pick up. Maybe she would even be sort of nice today.

After going downstairs for breakfast, and bringing up a box of cinnamon filled Pop tarts that the boys didn't want, she returned to her room, figuring that it was time to start her hostage's day.

She pulled the door of the closet open, and then forced herself to remain stoic and not become amused. John was asleep. His face was pressed up against an old shoe, and his body was in a very awkward position, with his hands still tied behind him and his ankles tied together. She knelt beside him.

"Pyro," she said, cupping his chin and turning his head to face hers. His eyelashes fluttered, but he didn't make any signal that he was about to wake up. For a moment, she debated, wondering if she should just let him sleep for now and just bother with keeping him alive later. But Wanda didn't want to have to bother with him later on… she just wanted to get all this nonsense out of the way, and not have to wonder if he was still doing all right for the rest of the day.

"Pyro…" she coaxed, lightly shaking him, trying to be kind.

He jerked his head to the side and groaned irritably, almost like he was having a tantrum. Smirking, Wanda prodded his chest. John groaned again, and his body turned so suddenly that she dropped his shoulders, and he began to struggle with some invisible force, like she was attacking him or something. As she tried to lift him back up again, his knee managed to jab painfully into her thigh, and her good mood withered away. And she had intended on being nice! Well, Wanda would not stand for his disrespect, _especially _if she was trying to be nice! Especially if she was being gentle, and taking her precious time out of her morning to take care of him! He oughta be grateful, and not agitated.

"Pyro!" she exclaimed, and struck him hard in the side of the face to wake him up good.

"Hmph!" he murmured, sounding like he might be saying something unkind. Fortunately the duct tape was still on quite firmly, which served to bring a small portion of her good mood back. He glared furiously at her.

"Come on," she told him, roughly pulling him up to his feet. "Today, we're going on an adventure."

He made a buzzing, groaning sound in his throat. She ignored it, and dragged him to the door and into the bathroom. He eyed her suspiciously as she closed and locked the door.

"Now, listen," she said firmly. "I'm letting you use the toilet. There are some rules here. If you misbehave, I won't _ever_ let you use it again. This is a privilege, and I am very serious. Do you understand?"

He nodded obediently, his blue eyes wide.

She violently tore the tape off of his mouth, as a revenge for being so rude earlier. He had squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for it, and this time he didn't holler like he had done the many times before. Perhaps he was trying to behave. Well, that was good.

"I am going to stand right behind you," she told him. "I won't be looking at anything but your back."

John stared at her in shock. "Are you out of your mind?" he asked, his mouth falling open. "You're not even letting me use the toilet in private?"

"Do you want to go or not?"

He let out a huffy breath of exasperation. He pouted and sulked for a long moment.

"Well, are you going or not?" Wanda asked, getting fed up, and not really minding it if he decided not to go.

"I can't…" he said helplessly, his cheeks pinkening slightly.

"And why _not?_" Wanda glared dangerously at him.

"I can't unbutton," he said miserably. "And I can't aim if I don't hold it. What if…?"

"Pyro," she said sternly, hating him. "I can't let you free, and I most certainly will _not_ hold your… your… _man part_ while you go to the bathroom!"

"Wanda…" he said weakly. "I really can't… "

"_Oh_. _My. God_." Wanda pulled a pocketknife from her back pocket. She went behind him. "If you try _any _funny stuff, I will not hesitate to knock you out. And you will_ not_ eat today. I mean it. You got that?"

John nodded solemnly. "Yes, ma'am."

Wanda sliced through the bindings around his wrists, and released only his right hand, holding tightly to his left hand so he wouldn't have both hands available. She pressed the tip of the knife to his left palm, so he could feel it and be appropriately intimidated, especially now that his right hand was free.

"I'm left-handed," he told her.

"TOO BAD!!" she exclaimed, ready to burst with aggravation. How dare he be so difficult?

While he proceeded to use the bathroom, Wanda examined his hand, the one she held in her own. His left wrist looked reddish from the rubbing of the bonds on his skin. Perhaps she should loosen them… but no. He had already escaped once, and she couldn't deal with that trouble again. He wiggled his fingers, and she noticed faint scars on the tips of the first two. She prodded his palm with the blade, and noticed that he was looking over his shoulder at her.

"I'm done now," he said. Wanda led him to the sink and squirted a glob of hand soap into his right palm. She turned on the faucet and went on to help him wash his hand.

"Here," she said, handing him an apparently unused toothbrush with a blob of toothpaste on it. He made a face at her, but she slapped the brush into his free hand. "Brush your teeth."

John did as he was told, and Wanda watched him with the eyes of a parent that has caught their child robbing the cookie jar. Sighing, she ran her fingers through his hair in a half-hearted attempt to tame it, but she liked the way it stuck up, wild and free, so she gave up her futile attempt, and began to smooth out wrinkles in his shirt.

"Whatcha doing?" John asked, putting the toothbrush next to the sink and drying his mouth off with the back of his hand.

"I don't know," Wanda snapped. "Grooming you. You're starting to look grimy."

"It's because I haven't showered," he explained.

"And you're _not going to_ either, not till Magneto gets over here." She pursed her lips to keep herself stoic. "Now, give me your hand."

He whined, "Oh, come on…"

"Pyro," she warned.

"Right…" he sighed reluctantly and gave her his free hand. Wanda pressed his two palms together behind him and used the twine still hanging on his other wrist to temporarily fasten his two hands together until she could get more.

She led John back into her room, after checking to make sure the coast was clear, and she sat him in the chair he had sat in where she had fed him the night prior.

"I'm feeding you again," she informed him, pulling a Pop Tart out of the box she had and showing him.

He frowned. "Oh, bloody hell…"

Wanda ignored his look of distaste and broke one in half. She brought a half to his mouth and pushed it in without allowing him a chance to protest.

"Wanda!" he exclaimed, and spit it right back out.

Infuriated, Wanda slapped him hard across the face, with enough force to wobble the chair he was on. "I don't _care _if you don't like these," she told him viciously, prodding a piece in his face. "You are going to eat them, and you are going to like it."

"I can't eat that," he said, pressing his lips tight together so she wouldn't force another one into his mouth. "I'll get sick."

"And why is _that?_" she asked, her eyes narrowing.

"I'm allergic to cinnamon," he dared to look up in her raging eyes. "I _swear,_ I'm not even having you on. I'll get all itchy and red and get a fever and I might even chunder."

"What's that?" she asked.

"Like this." He pretended to gag, very dramatically.

"Oh." Wanda scowled, angry that the food she had for him was no good. "What else are you allergic to?"

"Just pears and shrimp and cinnamon," he said. "One time, my mum made my family this meal of shrimp, and pears with cinnamon on top as a desert." He laughed reminiscently. "It was an amusing day."

"Well that's fucking great…" she growled sarcastically. A very large part of her wanted to force feed him this food anyway, no matter how hard he struggled or protested or threw up. She broke off a small piece of the middle section, the part that was the most filled with cinnamon, and examined it, weighing her options. He bit his lip anxiously, watching her.

She impulsively grabbed his chin and tried to pry his mouth open, but he threw himself backwards, away, only succeeding in pitching his chair over and knocking himself to the floor. Wanda pressed her hand to his forehead and tipped his head back.

John clamped his mouth shut, clenching his teeth together and squeezing his eyes closed. Enraged, Wanda smashed the pastry into his mouth, smothering it all over the lower half of his face until it was nothing but debris of cinnamon and crumbs. It _shouldn't_ have been fun to do this, to smash these Pop Tart guts into his face, but it was. For a moment, he represented everyone who had ever wronged her, everyone who deserved to be thrown to the ground and smothered by a Pop Tart that they were allergic to.

Even when there was nothing left, she continued to rub her palm roughly against his mouth, squashing some non existent thing into him …rub, rub, rub… pat, pat… stroke…

Wanda's hand rested against his lips, and she wondered why on earth she was doing this. Magneto was the one she wanted revenge against. Not Pyro. She thoughtfully drummed her fingers over his chin, knowing that she had gotten carried away, but there was nothing she could do to make it up to him because _he_ was the hostage, and_ she_ was the captor, and Magneto _had_ to be taken care of before she could move on. She picked at a blob of cinnamon right by his bottom lip, hoping he wouldn't get sick. The last thing she needed was to have to care for a sick person in her closet. Sighing, Wanda vaguely became aware that while her thoughts wandered, her index finger was running a little circle around his soft mouth. The other mouth she had known was solid and tough, and it hurt sometimes. Everything hurt at the asylum, even breathing, because sometimes, the jackets were too tight.

Suddenly she noticed that his blue eyes were looking up at her, a mixture of confusion, shock, unease, mirth, and suspicion all quite distinctive in his gaze. She watched the corners of his mouth turn up in a nervous little smile.

"Are you—?"

"Shhh!" Wanda pressed her index finger against his lips, forcefully hushing him. There was the sound of footsteps outside of her bedroom door, and Wanda realized what kind of a racket she must have made knocking him around and being so violent, and she said quietly, "Hush."

John gave her a bold smile and puckered his lips, momentarily kissing the finger that covered his mouth.

Wanda scowled, feeling her cheeks grow hot.

"Cut it out," she said darkly. "Or _I_ will."

John pouted, and Wanda got to her feet, listening to the shuffling sounds outside of her door, the sounds that sounded like footsteps and talking.

Someone was outside her bedroom door. The question was, were they planning to enter, or were they just standing around?

After another moment of waiting, Wanda's non-existent patience reached its final capacity, and she yelled, "Rule Number Three!!" She threw the door open. "No loitering!"

She began to slam the door closed again, when she realized that there were two people lurking by the doorway. And neither of them were in the Brotherhood.

One was made of metal, and the other had black and red eyes, and a long, long staff in his hand. As Wanda closed the door, the strange-eyed man stuck the staff in door, not allowing it to close.

"Pardon me, child," he said. "You must be Miss Wanda Maximoff. And I do believe you have something we're looking for."

"And what might that be?" Wanda asked, sticking her head out of the only partially opened door, making sure to keep her hostage from sight.

He smiled. "He looks like this." From his pocket, the strange-eyed man pulled an enlarged photograph of a red-headed pyromaniac, smiling insolently at the camera with his head at a slight angle, like he was just some innocent kid, but the expression in his eyes was perfectly wicked. Behind him was a height measurement going vertically up, and around his neck was a sign that read: "St. John Allerdyce." It was a mug shot.

Wanda laughed out loud, taking the picture in her own hands to better examine it. She wasn't sure if she could really believe that the person in this picture was really the one she had kidnapped.

"You can keep that," said the strange-eyed man. "You see, I know he's here."

"You don't know that," Wanda said, taking the picture and setting it on top of her dresser by the door. "I don't know where you'd get such a notion. Now, I suggest you leave before I call the other boys over here."

The man smirked at her, and hit the door with the end of the staff, knocking it open.

"Remy!" John exclaimed, sounding overjoyed. "Piotr! Are you blokes here to rescue me?"

"Just what the _hell _do you two think you're doing?" Wanda demanded, throwing her arms out to block them from entering. "I'm not letting you take Pyro. Only Magneto can have him."

"We're here to _take_ him to Magneto," Remy said, in a tone of voice that told her that he was used to people trusting him, and he thought she ought to just take his word on the matter.

"Yeah, right," Wanda scoffed. "Get the hell out."

"Now, now… we don't wanna fight you, child," Remy told her, glancing at the giant Piotr for his affirmation. "No, no. We just wanna take him and go off peacefully."

"I said no," Wanda said, folding her arms across her chest.

The two of them exchanged glances, and then, at the same time, they pushed themselves through the door together, knocking her aside as they entered the room.

Appalled, Wanda stepped back and slammed the door shut on them, using her powers. However, since Piotr the metal man was standing nearer to the side where the door was slamming, it crashed on his metallic body and shattered on impact. Piotr glanced at the door, barely seeming affected.

"Great," Wanda said sarcastically, not too concerned because they had a few spares in the hallway closet for just these types of occasions. She went to John and lifted him easily off the ground and roughly threw him onto her bed, on his face.

"My, my, my…" he muttered, lifting his head. "What an aggressive shiela you are…"

"Shut up," she growled, and turned to the intruders who had come for John, raising her glowing blue fists. "So, remind me again who you clowns are?"

"Us?" Remy asked, holding a glowing playing card in between his two fingers, like a cigarette. "Why, can't you tell? We are the Acolytes of Magneto."

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_A/N: I'm kind of glad that nobody here knows who I am in this real world we live in. Then perhaps I might be ashamed of myself. And perhaps you would all be afraid of me. Perhaps. _

_REVIEW!!! REVIEW!! REVIEW! PLEASE!!!_


	5. Vindictive

_A/N: It has come to my attention that I sound like such a lunatic when I talk to you all. I apologize. Please don't be afraid. I just get over-excited and hyper-sensitive about things, so I tend to sound crazy on paper sometimes. Ah, well. Whatever. I love you all. Please review!!... :D yum, reviews!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything._

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With barely a moment to spare, Remy thrust his hand out to the side and smashed his fist against the light switch on the wall, plunging them into a much dimmer lighting. Wanda blinked to adjust her eyes to the change, but when she looked around again, the two were nowhere to be found.

So they were being stealthy, huh? What these boys didn't know was that she had practically grown up in the dark, with a teeny, tiny window as a light source. She could be just as stealthy as they could.

She stepped back to her bed, keeping her mind on one thing: making sure that John wasn't taken away. She pressed her hand on the small of John's back, aware of his two hands bound right next to where hers rested.

Suddenly, a large hand swooped out of the air and grabbed Wanda up by the front of her shirt, lifting her easily off of the ground. Without a second thought, Wanda drew her fist back and punched him in the face as hard as she possibly could. Unfortunately for her fist, he was made of metal, and her punch did not faze him.

Wanda grasped at the arm that was holding her dangling her above the ground. She concentrated on turning this body's muscle to limp, unused flesh, muscles that an infant would be ashamed of. He teetered on unsteady legs, wobbling and shaking before he couldn't take the weakness anymore.

"Argh!" Piotr groaned, releasing her and collapsing because his body's weight was too much for the frail muscles Wanda had provided him with. She threw her arms onto the bed, only to find that it was empty, and knew that Remy must have gotten John when she had been preoccupied with Piotr.

Cursing violently, Wanda dashed out of her bedroom, looking left and right in the hall, trying to figure out which way they had gone.

She heard Pietro's voice from downstairs. "What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

Wanda took off downstairs at a speed that Pietro would have been proud of, with enough time to see Remy run out the front door, carrying John with both arms, like a bride across the threshold. Wanda shouted, "Pietro, stop them! He stole something that belongs to me!"

Pietro was on his feet in no time, and had Remy in the middle of the living room, with John sitting on his butt on the carpet, having fallen out of his comrade's grasp with the force of Pietro's speed.

"What did he steal, Wanda?" Pietro asked, looking Remy up and down suspiciously.

"Aw, dammit!" John exclaimed, throwing himself onto his stomach and beginning to wriggle like a worm as he tried to escape the room. Wanda snickered quietly, and then quickly composed herself, as she threw her arm out to paralyze Remy in place. John wasn't going anywhere, so she didn't bother to try and freeze him.

"Do me a favor, Pietro, and get Remy and Piotr, who is upstairs in my room, back to where they belong," Wanda instructed.

Pietro arched an eyebrow. "But what about—"

"Please, Pietro?" Wanda pressed, using her best manners to sway him. She hadn't been nice to him since they were about seven years old.

He smiled hesitantly, and with a whoosh was gone, along with Remy. John continued to try and fidget his way away from her, struggling with valiant effort. She crouched down beside him and easily shoved him over onto his back with one hand.

John groaned, squirming like an overturned turtle.

"Nice try," Wanda commented, smiling at him and tugging the bottom of his shirt down, which had come up a bit in his struggle.

"So close," he sighed, sounding only mildly depressed. "Ah, well. There's always next time."

Wanda smirked. "Optimists," she scoffed. "What, you don't like it in my closet?"

"It's cold in there," he explained. "And dull. And it's lonely."

Wanda felt her stomach twist in a way akin to a pretzel knot. For a moment, she felt a bond between herself and this red-headed Acolyte, for he knew what it was like to be cold and lonely with no one to talk to. He understood what it was like to not be able to move when your arm was cramped, or be able to scratch your nose when it itched. John understood what had happened to her, but the only difference here was that _she_ was the one to have trapped him in the cold and lonely prison.

But… but there was a difference. There had to be.

_I have good intentions_, Wanda told herself, gripping John wordlessly by his elbows and pulling him to his feet. My _father didn't have good intentions when he locked me away. He just didn't want to deal with me anymore. He was just trying to avoid his problems. But I'm not. I'm doing this for a good cause. _

"Wanda?" Pietro's voice cut through her thoughts. "Can I ask what's going on?"

"Sure, but that doesn't mean I'll answer," Wanda replied, brushing her shirt off. It was strangely expanded in the front, where Piotr had lifted her in the air. "Watch Pyro for a moment; don't let him go out of your sight, not even for _one second_."

"Okaaaay…" Pietro said slowly, and Wanda made her way into the kitchen. She opened the cabinets and the refrigerator and looked around for something simple and preferable un-messy that she could feed to John, since the other foods she had for him (the Pop tarts) weren't going to work out. The food supply in the Brotherhood was seriously lacking. She found a flattened granola bar and stuffed it into her pocket.

"Pietro," Wanda said loudly, reentering the living area. He was circling John slowly, looking at him suspiciously.

"Yes, Wanda?"

"Later today, I need you to go and shop for groceries," she told him. "The cupboard is bare. Old Mother Hubbard would be ashamed."

He nodded. "Okay. But what's—"

"And don't buy anything with cinnamon or pears or… what was that other one, Pyro?"

John smiled tentatively. "Shrimp."

"Right," Wanda said authoritatively. She placed her hands on her hips. "And it would be great if you found stuff that wasn't messy to eat, too."

"Is he _staying_ here?" Pietro asked incredulously.

"You could say that. Push him here," she instructed, extending her arms so she could catch him when he was forced this way.

Pietro shoved John at her, not seeming to care much about the fact that he was tied up pretty well, and it was near impossible for him to walk normally, let alone catch himself if he stumbled. He fell flat on his face with a groan at Wanda's feet, and Wanda glared at Pietro in response.

Sighing with exasperation, she bent and yanked John up by his shirt. "Don't be rough," Wanda snapped at Pietro. "I need him to be in good condition."

"What am I, a car?" John asked. Wanda calmly placed her hand over his mouth to silence him, and she checked his bindings to make sure that they were still on strong.

"What the _hell _is going on here?" Pietro demanded. "Why are you _keeping_ him? Why is he tied up? What do you need him for?'

"I don't have to explain anything to you," Wanda said flatly, examining her hostage for any signs of damage. He was generally alright, with only a little scratch over his left eye and a bit of swelling around his jaw. Nothing a few dabs of peroxide wouldn't take care of. She asked him, "Do you hurt anywhere?"

"No," he said sullenly. He was obviously upset that he had come so close to freedom but then had it all taken away. "Well, my wrists do twinge a bit. But if you untied me..."

"Of course." Wanda rolled her eyes, pulling him close to her and then heaving his body roughly over her shoulder in one fluid motion.

"Wanda, what is going _on_?" Pietro asked, placing his hands on his hips.

"I'm not telling you," Wanda said angrily. "Now go away."

"But I'm your brother," he pointed out. "You can't just expect me to _accept_ that you have a man tied up and you're taking him up to your room for God _knows_ what. Come _on_."

"Pietro," Wanda snapped. "Just keep _out_ of it. You know, like you're used to doing. It shouldn't be hard for you."

"Wanda, I hope you aren't doing what I _think_ you're doing with him," Pietro said, his voice low.

Wanda smirked; the horrified expression on her brother's face was just too priceless… how could she ever correct him? But he did have a point. The implications of what she was doing _were_ rather atrocious… Oh well.

"I'm going now," she informed her brother, starting up the stairs.

He gasped. "I'm gonna tell father!"

"GOOD!!" Wanda shouted, glaring at him. "Tell him to get his ass over here and stop me!"

Pietro stood by the door in shock, wringing his hands and biting his lip. Wanda continued to her room, pleased that she had mentally scarred her brother at least a tiny fraction of the way as much as she had been scarred in her childhood. She felt John wriggle against her body.

"This is _really_ uncomfortable," he groaned as her shoulder pressed into his stomach, and her arms gripped his legs to keep him from falling.

"I could knock you out again," Wanda offered threateningly. "If you want."

"No, don't," John said, his eyes traveling over her backside. "The view is nice here."

Wanda scowled, aware of the blush that went over her face. "I have no problem with blindfolding you too," she said sharply. "Would you like that?"

"That's a rhetorical question, isn't it?" he grinned and gave her a little halfway shrug.

"We'll see, John," Wanda snapped, feeling her face burn with fury. _How DARE he!_ How dare he have the audacity to look at her butt and then just grin like it wasn't a big deal?! _And he was still looking! _She pursed her lips and decided that perhaps she would just pay him back for all this later.

There was a new door in the entryway to her bedroom, and Wanda figured that Pietro had fixed it on his trip up here. To break it in, she slammed her door open and then slammed it violently shut behind her, shaking the walls slightly. Dropping him on her bed with an exasperated sigh, she said, "You're going to be the one to bring me over the edge. We'll see one day. It won't be fun, I assure you."

John giggled. "Ooh, I'm honored."

Wanda rolled her eyes, angry that she had set herself up for all of this frustration and irritation and annoyance. But if Magneto would just _come over here_, then she wouldn't have to deal with all of this trouble.

"Here," Wanda brought out the flattened granola bar and tore it open. She pressed it against his lips. "Eat."

John did as he was told. She quickly fed him, and then pulled his shirt up and used the bottom of it to wipe his mouth off.

"Okay," she told him. "There's a good chance that today is your last day here, because in the ransom note I sent out, I told Magneto to meet me tonight at Elysian Fields."

"You wrote a ransom note?" he asked, sounding interested. "What did you say?"

"Don't worry about that," Wanda said, tugging at his left shirt sleeve. John inclined his head, watching her face curiously as she adjusted the shirt to her liking. Wanda frowned, not much liking to be stared at. She hated to be looked at for too long, since it reminded her of the asylum. Always being watched… "What?" she snapped.

"You're odd," he commented, grinning up at her, like he was pleased.

"I am _not_," she said flatly, glaring at him. "Shut up."

"But I kinda like it," he said, still smiling. "It's fun. Even though you're also somewhat vindictive."

"Vindictive," she repeated. She had never heard that word before. No one had talked much to her when she had been locked up, and her vocabulary wasn't as extensive as it should have been for someone her age. "Tell me what that means."

He gave a nervous little laugh. "Yeah. I'd better not. You'd probably hit me."

"And _why_ would I do that?" Wanda asked, feeling her irritation levels rise.

"Because you're vindictive," he explained, and Wanda rolled her eyes.

"I'm putting you back in the closet," she told him.

"Ohh…"

Wanda sighed, patting the top of his head like he was a very small child and didn't understand a simple concept. "But we're going out tonight, to meet Magneto. So you'll be out again in a few hours. It'll be one big adventure."

"I'm excited," John said unenthusiastically.

"You _should_ be," Wanda said, grinning. She gave him a light slap on his cheek, one that could have easily been considered a pat for its mildness.

"Even though he won't come," John added.

"Hush," Wanda said, drawing out a long strip of duct tape with a loud rip. "Just shut up."

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_Elysian Fields is a reference to the play, __A Streetcar Named Desire__ by Tennessee Williams. I like that play._

_I wrote this chapter in several late nights, so any errors are accredited to my insomnia._

_So, yeah… REVIEW!!! I'll love you forever if you do!!_


	6. Guilty Medicine

_A/N: Wow, this was a quick update! This chapter is a product of me making outlines, and then straying slightly from them. There is a very interesting Jonda moment in here that was totally unplanned, but I like to think it all worked out in the end. Don't forget to REVIEW!!!_

_Disclaimer: I own a really cool Gambit action figure! I really, actually do._

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Wanda stared at the closed closet door, her heart flooded with guilt and pain, memories of the asylum flickering through her mind, making her guilt and pain ten times worse. Already an hour had passed since she had pushed John back in there.

He was probably lonely right now. At least when _she_ had been locked up, she still had the freedom to speak. It wasn't as if she would be frowned upon if she talked to herself. She held full-scale debates out loud with herself, and sang songs that she remembered from earlier childhood. And when she was really, _really_ bored or lonely, or particularly depressed, she would scream. Even though it made her throat hurt, she never stopped, not even when they came running in with needles, ready to silence the screams _for_ her. She screamed so often that when something bad was actually happening to her, nobody paid any attention.

Wanda ran her fingers through her hair, taking a breath to calm herself, as she didn't want to start getting wound up again. Having John here was making her more high-strung than she had already been. Perhaps she should have thought this whole hostage thing all the way through before she had gone ahead and taken him. Perhaps she should have considered that, as a person, he had needs too. And since she was the one keeping him here, she would be the one to have to care for him, and make sure he stayed healthy.

But what if Magneto never came for him? What if John was _right_ when he said Magneto would not waste his time to come retrieve him? He hadn't come for him, not yet. She had thought Magneto would come over at the first indication that one of his men was missing. Wanda hoped he was just trying to lull her into a false sense of security. Magneto only had like, five Acolytes. One Acolyte missing was a big deal, and eventually, John would be needed. But… maybe the reason that Magneto hadn't come yet was the same reason she had picked John in the first place. Gambit gambled and did tricks, Colossus was huge and strong, Sabertooth was lethal, Mastermind messed with people's minds, but Pyro was just… fire. He hadn't seemed as strong, just by his name; but maybe he really _wasn't_ as strong.

Perhaps she should have kept the other two; that _surely_ would have been an incentive for Magneto to come over! …But, no. That meant more work for her, more feeding them, more trips to the bathroom, less energy, less closet space, less duct tape and twine… one hostage was enough. And John was easy enough to take care of. He didn't complain _too_ much, and since he needed some source of fire to activate his powers, it was easier to keep him from getting free.

"There is nothing wrong with what I am doing," Wanda said to herself. "This is for the best. Getting rid of Magneto is _worth_ locking someone else up."

It didn't feel right to say such a thing. Being locked up had been a terrible, horrible experience. The only person she would wish it on was Magneto. And maybe Pietro. Maybe.

Wanda shook her head, getting to her feet and touching the doorknob to the closet.

…But what if he made an attempt to escape again? But, no, she would be right here, right next to him. It wasn't as if she would just leave him alone. But there were 6 hours to spare until they had to begin travelling to go down to Elysian Fields! What would she do with him for 6 _hours_? But it wasn't right to keep him locked in there for that long, fully conscious and dwelling on what might be about to happen to him. She knew what it was like; sometimes she would scream just so they would give her the drugs, and temporarily take her away from this place. It was always easier to live when she wasn't aware that she was doing it…

_That was it!_

Wanda walked out of her room with purpose, and she entered the empty bathroom. She glanced around shiftily, and then opened the medicine cabinet. Pietro sometimes took sleeping pills, to help keep him asleep for the whole night, since a full night's rest for him consisted of two hours, and then he was wide awake again. He had 3 two-hour cycles of sleep each day, because everything about him moved so fast. The pills were supposed to keep him down at night, while everyone else was sleeping, so he wouldn't bother anyone. But he only took them if he was feeling generous toward the other boys, which wasn't very often.

Wanda examined the bottle, aware that it probably worked pretty quickly on an ordinary person if it could possibly settle in Pietro. If this little blue pill kept Pietro asleep for three hours, then it would probably keep John asleep for at least five.

She filled a glass of water and returned to her bedroom with the small pill hidden in her pocket. Setting the water on the table beside her bed, she went to her closet, and very quietly pulled the door open just a crack, so she could see how her hostage was faring, alone in this closet.

John was watching a small crack in the wall beside him, his blue, blue eyes moving slowly from its start to its finish. She wondered what on earth he must be thinking about because the crack really wasn't that fascinating. She heard him sigh softly through his nose, and he turned his head toward the door.

His eyes met with hers and his reaction was instant. A big smile appeared on his face, tugging slightly at the tape over his mouth.

"You're glad to see me?" Wanda asked, trying not to sound completely incredulous.

John nodded solemnly. Slightly surprised, Wanda opened the door all the way and crouched beside him. She didn't let her surprise or the tiny bit of elation show as she lifted him up and brought him to her bed. She sat him down, and yanked the duct tape off, trying to show him that she still was the boss, even though she was giving him a small bit of freedom.

"Ouch," he said, sucking his top lip into his mouth. "What time is it?"

"Four," Wanda said. "We're not due at Elysian Fields till midnight."

John arched an eyebrow. "That's not for a while," he commented, watching her suspiciously.

"I'm _aware_," Wanda snapped, and then calmed herself down. She sat beside him, taking the water in one hand, and pulling out the small pill with the other. "Here," she said peacefully. "Take this."

"What's that?" John asked, frowning at the pill in her hand.

"It's a pill," she said, like he was an idiot.

"I can see _that_," he said, rolling his eyes. "But what _kind_? I barely ever take medicine."

"Well then, this should have a good effect on you, shouldn't it?" Wanda gestured to her palm again.

"I'd rather not," he said warily.

"Open your mouth," Wanda instructed, raising the pill up to his mouth, which he clamped instantly shut, shaking his head. She glared at him. "Pyro, come on. It won't kill you."

He shook his head vigorously, keeping his mouth tightly closed. Wanda felt a surge of rage, coupled with a desire to throw him back into the closet and just let him sit in there, cold and lonely and bored and _conscious_; it certainly would serve him right! But she jumped up and pushed him down onto his back, leaning over him and pressing the pill against his lips, trying to take advantage of gravity and being in a superior position.

She pressed her knees into the mattress beside him, holding his head still with one hand, and trying to force the pill in between his locked lips. He even had his teeth clenched together.

"John," she coaxed, trying to change her tone, though she still leaned over him menacingly. "It's okay, St. John; it's just a little pill."

John smiled, his mouth still firmly closed. He shook his head, like he knew he was winning this battle. Wanda scowled. She was determined not to lose this fight, or else she knew she might lose others in the future. It was important that she win against him.

"Fine," she said, glaring at him. "You want to do this the hard way? I have no problem with doing this the hard way!"

He arched an eyebrow somewhat suggestively, nodding earnestly.

"_Fine then!_" Wanda exclaimed, and she opened her mouth and placed the pill precariously onto her tongue. John frowned, looking slightly confused. Wanda felt the pill begin to dissolve on her tongue, and she knew that she had to do this quickly.

She forcefully pressed her determined lips against his tightly shut ones, surprising him with a fierce, bruising kiss, intended to weaken his resolve and make his mouth open. She felt his body almost instantly tense up, and his jaw fell slightly open, completely flabbergasted by her actions. Feeling the movement of his chin, Wanda slid her tongue between his lips, transferring the little pill from her mouth to his, and lingering there to graze his tongue, stricken by the hotness of his mouth and the softness of his lips. She hadn't expected him to have such an _enticing_ oral cavity...

Wanda drew back and then planted a decisive, but less aggressive kiss onto his lips, one to which John responded fervently, using his elbows to help push himself up. She suddenly pulled away from him, reminding herself that she had already given him the pill. That was that. Nothing more should have happened.

"There," Wanda said resolutely, covering his mouth with her hand, in case he tried to spit the pill out, or in case another impulse got the better of her. She bit her lip, aware of the blush creeping up in her cheeks. To hide any other emotion that may have come creeping up, she took the cup of water and pressed it to his lips, and he obediently drank, watching her with wide, blue eyes.

Wanda smiled, feeling more pleased than she had expected. He had swallowed the pill. Her goal had been met. She quickly assured herself that this was the only thing she felt satisfied about.

"See?" she said quietly, setting the cup back on the table. "That… that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Yeah…" he agreed. "We oughta do it again sometime."

Wanda bit her bottom lip, and hastened to sit back beside him, as she didn't want to be all leaned over him for the whole time. He tried to sit up, but Wanda put her hand to his chest, keeping him down. The drugs were about to start kicking in, and she didn't want him to collapse on the floor.

"Oh," he said softly. "It's a sleeping pill, is it?" Wanda smiled and nodded, noticing the sudden cloud that had formed over his gaze. He didn't seem focused anymore. He began shaking his head to try and fight the sudden exhaustion that had overcome him.

"Shhh…" Wanda crooned, feeling incredibly ingenious for having succeeded in her plan. She placed her hand on his cheek and turned his head to one side, patting him gently so he would relax and pass out sooner.

"Whoa…" he whispered, his sleepy eyes fluttering in and out of consciousness. "That's… that's some strong… some stuff… bloody strong, there…"

And he was dead asleep within a matter of seconds.

Wanda watched him for a long moment, rather stunned with herself for taking such a drastic measure to get him to swallow that pill. She could have just as well punched him in the stomach and weakened him that way. Why hadn't she thought of that earlier? Oh well…

She pulled her blanket up and covered his body with it, well aware of the lack of adequate heat in this house. She couldn't have him freezing to death. Stifling a yawn, Wanda reached over him, trying to get to her pillow, when she realized something. About a fourth of the pill had dissolved in her own mouth before she had transferred it to him.

She felt her eyelids getting heavy, and she dropped her hand over John's chest. It had no will to move or reach, and neither did the rest of her body. That _was_ a strong pill. Almost as strong as those tranquilizers in the asylum. She had never been able to fight those either.

Wanda sighed, resting her body beside John's, her arm still stretched over him. What did it matter…? Just a quick rest, that's all it was… a quick rest.

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_Sigh… I feel better now. Tell me what you all think. Next installment soon to come! REVIEW!!!! It could help my Spring Break be more productive! (REVIEW!) _


	7. The Date with Magneto

_A/N: I know, I'm a horrible peron. I'm updating this story and not my other one that needs it more. Ah well. I just had more inspiration for this. Just so you all have been warned, there is QUITE some violence in this chapter. It's rated T violence though, so don't cry! Unless you abolutely feel the need. _

_Disclaimer: I own X-Men Evolution… NOT!!!_

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When Wanda awoke, the first thing her eyes found was the blue material of the shirt her hostage was wearing, and out of instinct, she closed her fingers around the fabric, drawing comfort from the fact that it was soft and colored. Just like everything she hadn't ever had at the asylum. The asylum was all light and a little bit of shadow. No color, nothing like this. She didn't think she would ever get used to this "freedom" thing. Everything reminded her of that damn place. Well... that would all be over once Magneto was finished.

She groggily sat up, frowning to herself as her mind reeled from the movement. She very slowly released his shirt and openly stared at him. It wasn't as if he would feel uncomfortable or anything. He was dead asleep. The clock read 10:49 pm on it, and she sighed upon seeing it. Perhaps she should begin to get ready to go to that meeting. They would have to leave around 11:15 if they wanted to arrive by midnight.

She inspected his face carefully. He hadn't exactly had a peaceful existence she she had brought him here. "Hmm," Wanda said to herself, frowning at his jaw. It looked a little bit swollen. _That's probably my fault,_ she mused, thinking back to the pop tarts. _But other than that he's fine. He certainly is attrac— _

"John?" she asked professionally, to shake herself out of her thoughts and to assess what level of consciousness he was at. She really shouldn't have kissed him. It was addling her brain. It was making her think thoughts that she would never have ever thought before. "Are you awake?"

When he didn't react, she placed a hand on his shoulder and gently shook him. He didn't respond to that light shaking, and he didn't respond when she flicked the tip of his nose, or prodded his belly button, or tugged at his earlobe. Well. This certainly was interesting. But it was okay; he might be easier to deal with if he wasn't protesting or making irritating comments or being appealing. Or whatever.

Wanda threw open her bedroom door.

"Hey, Lance," she called, not even bothering to knock on his door before she opened it. He was laying in bed, already asleep. "LANCE!"

"Wha…?"

"Wake up already," Wanda snapped. "I just wanna borrow your jeep for tonight. Where are the keys?"

"God, Pietro… what time is it?"

Incensed, Wanda yelled, "I am NOT Pietro, thank you very much! And I am borrowing your jeep, whether you like it or not!"

"You sure were acting like him," Lance mumbled, rolling over in bed, not seeming to really be absorbing the situation.

Spotting the keys on top of the dresser, Wanda rolled her eyes and snatched them. "Whatever," she said, stalking out of the room. "Thanks a lot, Rocky."

She slammed the door shut, hard enough to make the house shiver. She and Pietro were _nothing_ alike. Pietro was a monster, just like their father. She was just a victim. A victim who wasn't going to sit around and just wallow in self-pity. She was going to take _action_, dammit! Something that Pietro hadn't done. She was _nothing_ like them. Not even one tiny bit.

Wanda entered her room and put on her shoes, and found her red cape jacket. It was probably going to be a cold night, but it wouldn't take too long to defeat Magneto. Hmm. And since Magneto was going to be defeated, she would probably wind up having to bring John to their base or whatever, afterwards. What did it matter? She was going to destroy Magneto! Finally! For once in her life, Wanda felt excited with the prospect of getting out of the house. So what if it was winter and her fingertips were freezing? So what if Lance would hate her for the rest of his life because she had jacked his car? So _what_ if she had gone through ridiculous amounts of stress over having a hostage? It was all about to be worth it.

In a suddenly good mood, she plopped down on her bed, sitting beside John's still sleeping form. "John," she said, patting the side of his face. "It's time to wake up. Today might be the day you go home."

Damn, was that a strong pill. She gently lay her hand on his forehead and focused on rousing his mind. The clock turned from 10:59 to 11:00.

"Hmmm…" John opened one eye.

"It's time to go meet Magneto," Wanda told him. "You should be excited."

"Oh," he blinked several times, to try and wake himself up more thoroughly. "I see."

"What are you gonna do first, once you're free?" Wanda asked, and inclined her head to the left.

"Uh... shower."

Wanda smirked. "Good idea. You're dirty." She pulled him up by the front of his shirt, to get him into a sitting position. "We're in a hurry, so make sure you keep up and don't fall on your ass."

"Well, you know, if I was untied..." John said slowly, smiling boldly up at her.

"Huh." Wanda ignored him, dragging him roughly toward her door.

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Even after the repeated ordeal of using the bathroom and her refusal to give him his left hand, Wanda's mood still remained fairly stable and cheerful. She sat him in the front passenger seat of the car, and bent down and retied his ankle ties.

"Don't freak out or anything, but I've only driven once in my life before this," Wanda announced, as she went around the car and sat in the driver's seat. "And I was about four years old, with a toy steering wheel."

"Well, that's bloody fantastic," John said sarcastically.

"Yeah, but I figure I can work it with my powers, so don't be worried," Wanda stuck the keys in the ignition and started the car.

"Can you, uh… buckle me in?" John asked nervously, his voice an octave higher.

"You'll be fine," Wanda scoffed, and took off into the night, with John hollering nearly all the way there.

They arrived at Elysian Fields, and Wanda's glowing watch read 11:43. She cracked her knuckles in an arthritic sounding way, and then glanced over John, who had wound up on the car floor because of her aggressive driving skills and his lack of seat belt.

"You okay, there?" she asked, trying not to let her amusement show. He scowled, and she pulled him out from the uncomfortable position he was in. "Okay. Come on."

She exited the car and pulled him out as well, almost literally dragging him to where the giant sign that read, "Elysian Fields" was located, some fifty meters from where they had parked. It wasn't even about having an advantage over Magneto in battle. It was more about, if the next time Lance saw his car, and it was totaled, then she was going to have problems.

"Sit," Wanda instructed John, pressing him on top of a large rock.

"I don't reckon he's gonna come by here," John commented, shivering.

"He will," Wanda said determinedly. "He has to. He needs you."

John grinned. "I appreciate that you think I'm that important. But he won't—"

"Do you _want_ to be locked up in my closet for the rest of your young life?" she demanded. "No? So, why don't you just stop complaining and we can just wait here patiently for him to arrive? The way you're whining makes me think you'd rather be in a closet than waiting for him to arrive."

"Well, it _is_ rather cold out here," he said thoughtfully. Wanda frowned at him for a moment.

"I guess I should have brought you a coat or something," she mused. "Hmm. Well, I guess we can't have you freezing to death before he even gets here. What good are you _then_?"

"You oughta start a fire," he suggested hopefully. "Then we'd both be really warm and you wouldn't have to worry about anything."

"Nice try," Wanda narrowed her eyes at him. She sat beside him on the rock. "Wel... I'll just sit here with you for a few minutes, until midnight arrives. Then I'll have to be on the watch."

He nodded in agreement, and she hesitantly put one arm around his waist, over his bound wrists. To help keep him warm.

It wasn't because she cared or anything. It was because Magneto certainly wouldn't want him back if he was frozen. Of course.

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The cold wind blew again, chilling Wanda's body to the bone, and also numbing her heart once more. Another hope lost, another dream dashed. She could not accept that this was happening. And on one of the coldest nights she had ever weathered. Surely he would come. Surely he would at least send his other Acolytes again. _Surely_ he would at least leave a note! Any decent human being would have left something behind instead of leaving her to wait for _over two hours_ in the bitter cold. But then again… Magneto _wasn't_ a decent human being, was he? Hell, he wasn't even technically human.

Wanda clenched her fists to get the feeling back in them. How dare he… was he really not going to show up? No, this wasn't happening. Perhaps it wasn't midnight yet. The watch on her wrist that glowed 2:30 must surely have been completely wrong.

"Wanda?" John asked, his voice tentative and hoarse. She whirled around to fix him with a menacing death glare.

"_What?" _

He coughed. "He ain't coming, Wanda, love."

She clenched her jaw, _hating_ him for trying to be nice, for being cold and shivering, but most of all, she hated him for being right.

"Yes, he _is!"_ Wanda exclaimed vehemently, and she shoved John so forcefully off of the rock, that he flipped over it and fell flat on his back in a sticky puddle of mud. She circled the miniature boulder, picked him up by the front of his shirt—the only part of him that wasn't covered in dirt—and she threw him on a rougher, less muddy patch of earth. "He's here, and I just _know_ it! _I know you're here, Magneto!_ Come out here and _show_ yourself! Quit being a coward!"

"Wanda," John tried to reason with her, but she slapped him hard across the face.

"You _shut up_!" she screamed hysterically. "He's here, he _has_ to be! I_ know_ he's here!! He needs you back! He can't just ignore you! _HE CAN'T JUST IGNORE ME!!!" _She drew back and furiously punched John in his face, her knuckle making painful contact with his cheekbone. Angry that the punch had hurt her as well as him, she scrambled to her feet and began to kick him, her steel-toed boots smashing into his ribs, into his stomach. She ignored his groans of pain, ignored the fact that if Magneto did indeed want his Acolyte back, she may have been screwing her chances of ever avenging her lost childhood. Right now, her every ounce of energy was directed toward beating the living daylights out of this man that had been _right_; he had been right this whole time, and she hadn't listened to him. How dare he prove her wrong; how dare he make her look like a fool out here?

"I know you're here, Magneto!" Wanda shouted desperately, ceasing her assault for a brief moment. "Look! I'm beating up your precious Acolyte! You NEED him!! Why don't you come and rescue him, already?!"

The whispering wind offered her no answer, and Wanda aimed a frustrated kick into the small of John's back. He whined like an injured puppy. There was a silence. She heard John moan as he tried to move. She heard her cape flutter in the silent breeze. She heard her watch beep.

It was 3 AM.

Wanda scowled. "Dammit."

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_As you can see, Wanda is pissed. And relatively psychotic. John is pretty special himself, but I don't think it will be shown as much as Wanda's psychotic-ness will be. Don't worry guys! Everything will eventually be okay!!!_

_Now go on and review. YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO… _

_(REVIEW!!!)_


	8. Soft

_A/N: Slight violence and a lot of Wanda's musings. Oh yeah. This is the longest chapter so far; twice as long as the last one. Just remember to review! _

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The wind picked up again, full force in her direction.

Her rage was very slowly beginning to subside. Very, _very_ slowly.

Wanda paced back and forth, trying to breathe calmly and keep her tears inside as she reflected over everything that she had done in these past few hours. She had fought two other Acolytes. She had drugged St. John with an aggressive kiss. After waking up from an extended nap beside him, she had brought him to the car and driven to this deserted Elysian Fields. She had waited with him for hours and hours. And then she had beaten the crap out of him.

And now he was lying in the dirt and making little sounds of pain that made it hurt for her to think straight. He was hurt and it was her fault. There was no way she could blame anyone but herself for this. Sure, Magneto hadn't arrived, but she could have very well taken her anger out on the rock they had been sitting on, or on Lance's jeep even.

Swallowing apprehensively, Wanda very slowly approached the dark silhouette of the injured man in the mud. She bit her bottom lip, feeling her eyes well up with tears of rage, guilt, and regret. She did not want to cry. Not one little bit. Unfortunately, self-restraint had never been one of her strong suits, and she felt hot tears sting her eyes and leak down her cheeks. That infernal guilt crept up into her throat, stopping right where her Adam's apple should be, making it increasingly hard to swallow. The tears spilled instantly down her cheeks, only serving to frustrate and confuse her. This feeling was very different from the way she usually felt, which was a mixture of being enraged and helpless. This feeling was something she did not remember ever feeling before in her conscious life.

For once in her life, Wanda was not crying for herself.

"John?" she asked softly. She knelt beside him, wiping the unbidden tears hastily from her face. He didn't speak, but she could see that he was breathing, which was definitely a good sign.

"Beat it," he muttered, sounding bitter and wounded.

Wanda sighed, relieved as well as annoyed that he could still speak. She carefully put her arms around him, painfully hoisting him up and bringing him back to the car.

"You crazy lady!" John's voice was hoarse. "You have _completely_ lost your marbles!"

Wanda bit her tongue, sitting him gently in the passenger seat and cautiously buckling him in, vowing to at least try to drive peacefully this time around.

-----------

She brought John back to her room, one arm around his shoulder, and the other clamped over his mouth, since she hadn't thought to bring the duct tape with her. He whined and sniffled every now and again, but in general, he was behaving quite well, so Wanda decided that perhaps she could do something sort of nice for him. Perhaps.

"Okay, John," she said quietly, draping a towel on the bed and making him lie on it, on his side so his hands wouldn't press against the bruise she knew was on his back. He groaned softly as she accidentally brushed against his hip and yet again, she felt that now familiar stab of guilt in the pit of her stomach. "If you keep very quiet, then I won't put that tape over your mouth while I do this. If you make too much noise, I _will_ have to shut you up. Is that clear?"

He frowned at the threat, but nodded in agreement. "What're you gonna do, then? Heal me?"

"I wish it were that easy," Wanda told him. "But I haven't gotten enough training to focus my powers like that. I suppose if you only had a little scratch, I could, but you have much more than just a little scratch."

"Huh," John scoffed.

"So, I'm gonna use normal people methods to help your swelling go down and fix you up," Wanda concluded, and she looked down at his rumpled, dirty clothes and disheveled hair. He just looked pitiful. She couldn't believe she had done this to him.

She sighed, and then left for the bathroom, knowing he was too weak to attempt to run off, and in any case, he was still tied up all the way, so he wouldn't be able to get anywhere if he did try.

She pulled out the meager first aid kit from underneath the sink, and then grabbed another towel off of the rack, dabbed the edge of it into water from the sink and then returned to her room, where John had barely moved a muscle. His eyes were closed, but when she entered, he opened them, looking upset.

"Can you sit up?" she asked, trying to sound as professional as she possibly could. She did not want him to know how she was feeling inside, because she did not want to believe it herself. She did not want to feel sorry for him and angry with herself. She wanted to feel the other way around.

He didn't even attempt movement, and slightly annoyed, Wanda pulled him up by his upper arms, ignoring the hiss of pain that escaped his lips as he was pulled into this position. He visibly clenched his teeth, and she paused for a moment to pull her pocketknife out of her back pocket.

"Oh," she heard him gasp at the sight of the knife, his face paling considerably.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Wanda assured him, biting back the 'anymore' that she wanted to add. With one precise cut, she sliced through his restraints, and then maneuvered him onto his back, stretching his arms out to the sides. He gave a long sigh of relief, his arms going limp for a moment, and then his fingers attempting to wriggle.

She smiled at his grateful expression, and lifted his dusty shirt, managing to easily pull it off of his head, and drop it on the floor beside her bed. He didn't seem to mind. He actually seemed quite cooperative, now that his hands were free. She bit her lips, trying not to think about the dark bruises she had left on him, a few abrasions, and some vivid-looking scratches. Not to mention the rosy red bruise on his cheek where she had delivered that first blow. It looked so _bad_ when he wasn't wearing his shirt; she didn't even want to see his back, which had to be just as bad, if not worse. And the lights weren't even _on._ The only thing guiding her was the light of the moon shining through the half open blinds on the window. She couldn't imagine what it would look like if the lights were on.

She took the towel with the wet corner and wiped it over his face, taking much care around the bruise on his cheek. John stared at her with shiny eyes illuminated by the dim light. Wanda dried his face with the rest of the towel, and then draped it over her shoulder.

"Where do you hurt?" she asked, setting the first aid kit beside him on the bed and opening it. All that was in here was a box of cheap, plastic band-aids, and an ice pack. She picked up the ice pack and squeezed it. "Is there anywhere in particular where it hurts most?"

"You oughta know where I'm hurt," he said flatly. "You're the one who done hurt me."

Wanda growled, folding her arms across his chest, feeling the old, familiar fury course through her. Here she had been, in an okay mood, ready to help him get better, when he had to go and say something stupid. Stupid and true. The truth only made it more infuriating. "I don't have to try and help at all, you know," she informed him angrily. "If you don't want me to help you, that's fine by me; I don't care. I don't mind just tossing you in the closet and leaving you to simmer in your pain. Do you want that? No? Then quit back-talking to me and just answer my questions when I ask."

"What's your bloody problem?!" John practically yelled. "I didn't do anything to wrong you, and here you go, ready to kill me and all, just 'cause I tried to put some reality into your skull, and I even said it nice! What did I do to even deserve getting stolen in the first place?"

"You work for Magneto," Wanda snapped. "What more reason do you need?"

John pushed himself up into a sitting position, wincing violently as his bruised stomach had to strain painfully to bend his midsection. "What about a _good_ reason? Just 'cause I work for Magneto doesn't mean a thing. You don't know the life I had before that. You don't know what brought me here. You don't know—"

"It doesn't matter," Wanda interrupted. "I expected Magneto to need you. This whole situation was just so I could get Magneto over here. That's all. But as it turns out, you're expendable. So, I need to figure out what else can do with you to get him to want to come over here, because you're _obviously_ not important enough."

"He left _you_ in some bleedin' hellhole with no friends or family or nothing, and then never even tried to get you back," he countered. "You're _just_ as important as me. Perhaps less, since—"

Wanda cut him off with a sharp slap to his face. The palm of her hand stung from the contact, but when she looked at him, she knew it must have hurt him far worse than she. She opened and closed her fist, fuming and feeling horrible at the same time, knowing that it would probably benefit her to think before she acted. A lot.

The last thing she wanted to do, however, was apologize for her quick temper.

"I told you," John said bitterly, and she noticed the redness of his face, even as he looked away from her. "I told you he wasn't gonna come. I ain't all that important, shiela."

Wanda scowled, willing herself not to punch him again. He was hurt enough as it was, and she couldn't afford anymore guilt on her mind. She bit her top lip to help restrain herself, and instead of blacking his eye, she reached down and began to unbutton his pants.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed, the injured look in his eyes transforming quickly into shock. He snatched her wrists with his newly freed hands. "What exactly are you doing?"

Wanda glared menacingly at his hands on her own. "I'm taking off your clothes."

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, sounding rather taken aback.

"You're muddy," Wanda said dangerously. "And you're sitting on my bed."

John's mouth moved wordlessly, his blue eyes wide with surprise.

Wanda glared at him. "AND it's getting late," she added impatiently. "I'd like to just get this over with and then go to sleep, if you don't mind."

"But my hands are free," he said, squeezing her wrists lightly. "I can do it myself. If you must, you could _watch_. I'd even do a little dance for you, if you like."

Wanda pursed her lips. "John," she said warningly. "Let go."

Frowning, John obeyed, releasing her wrists and leaning back on his hands. She clenched her jaw to keep her expression stony, and she continued undoing his pants, then tugged them off, after slicing through the bonds on his ankles. She wondered if he could tell that he was momentarily free. She knew that _she_ always could.

Wanda stood, looking his body up and down, and she couldn't help but smile as she saw those turtle shorts again. It hadn't been _that_ long, but it felt like an eternity since she had brought him here. Back then, the turtles had made him seem out of place. She had never thought an Acolyte of Magneto would wear something so seemingly innocent. But now… they suited him just fine. He was injured and weakened. He was barely an Acolyte, as Magneto apparently didn't want him, and he just seemed like some lost kid in his underwear. In her bedroom. On her bed.

"You like what you see?" John smiled insolently at her.

"Huh," Wanda scoffed, making it a point to shamelessly scrutinize his body. "Nope."

And the truth was that she didn't. She didn't like that he had a well-built body, or that he was that perfect combination of muscle and leanness that she had always dreamed about back in the day when she had been silly enough to dream that she would have a future with a family and everything. She wished he was scary and ugly; it would make her job as his captor a lot easier. She did not need any more crazy impulses or temptations.

John shrugged good-naturedly and reached up and to scratch the side of his face. Wanda began pulling her long jacket off, keeping her eyes to herself. John made a small sound of disbelief.

"And what might you be doing _now_?" John asked, his eyebrows arched.

"Why don't you quit asking stupid questions," Wanda suggested, draping her long jacket over his shoulders. "It's cold, and I have to figure out what to do with you."

"Well, I'm a bit _injured_," he said darkly.

"You want to be a bit more _specific_?" Wanda asked, and then sensing a new altercation, added, "At lease, tell me _where_. Where it hurts most."

He raised his hand to his cheek, the one with the bright red bruise, the one that she had smacked. "Here, I suppose…"

"Hmm," Wanda thoughtfully rubbed her chin. "Hold this there, then." She handed him the ice pack to put on his face. "Let me check how the rest of you is doing."

She brought a chair over and sat herself in front of him, her mind drifting to a few medical books she had read in the past few weeks, even before she had taken John. It helped to know what body structures were where and how to injure a person with the most results, especially if one was as devoted to revenge against her father as she was. Who would have thought it would actually _help_ another person one day?

"Keep quiet," she warned, sliding her two hands beneath the jacket, around his bare back. She lightly pressed her fingers against the back of his ribs, relieved to find that they were sturdy and normal and unbroken, and his skin was very soft and warm, regardless of the fact that this room was cold and he had ice on his face. He winced in some places, but his back was fine. Her hands moved around to his front, feeling increasingly self-conscious. His chest was okay, even under the angry scratch marks, and he only cringed slightly when her hands went over the pink abrasions. But then there was that big, purplish-blue colored bruise underneath his left pectoral muscle, decorating a good portion of his left side. It looked very unhealthy. She really didn't think it wise to even go near it, but she didn't know any other way she could check to see if his ribs were okay underneath it. She bit her lip and gingerly touched the bruise.

He squeezed his eyes shut, yelling in pain. "That HURTS!" he hollered, his teeth showing through his parted lips.

"Shhh!" Wanda hissed, leaning close to his face. She already felt horrible, but felt ten times worse for shushing him so callously. "Okay," she said, more to herself than him. "That's a bad one, but I think it's only cracked. It isn't broken."

"_Only_ cracked," he repeated scornfully, putting one hand weakly to his abdomen.

Wanda pulled the jacket tighter around his shoulders. "It's 4 in the morning," she said, after a glance to the clock by her bed. "I'm putting you to bed."

"Hmm," John looked at his hands, lowering the ice pack from his cheek. "But… I like being free. I ain't gonna try and escape or nothing, I promise."

"I'm not going to sit here all night and make sure you stay locked up," Wanda told him, not mentioning that she intended to stay awake anyway, at least until she could figure out her next plan of action. "That's too much trouble."

"But you cracked my rib," John protested. "You oughta feel a little bad for that. Perhaps bad enough to give me a break. I ain't asking much. And that closet pokes me, and it'll hurt more, now that I'm injured and the like."

Wanda scowled. He had a point, but she couldn't put him anywhere else really. She pressed her lips together in a firm, angry line. "I'm still tying you up," she said flatly, grabbing the tape and twine in bending down to his ankle level.

"I don't get anymore clothes?" he asked incredulously. "But it's gotta be below freezing in here!"

"If you don't quit complaining, I'll take your shorts too," she threatened, and he instantly fell silent.

Taking his ice pack, she pulled him toward herself, to position his wrists behind him the way she wanted. They were swollen and reddish-pink, and his hands looked like the circulation had been cut off from them a few times.

She cursed to herself, and grabbed her blanket. John turned his head to see what she was doing behind him, and she pulled him close to her body, pressing his head to her shoulder as if he were a small child. This way, he wouldn't be able to see how she was tying him up. His breath caught in his throat, and Wanda paused for a moment, wondering if she was being wrong.

She looked down and continued her work, somewhat distracted. His body was leaning into hers; his cheek was resting on her shoulder now. She could feel his body shift to be closer to her, to get a little bit of her warmth. Very distracting indeed. She tore a strip of fabric off of the blanket, and proceeded to wrap it around his wrists to bind them together. It was softer, it wouldn't cut into him as much as the twine and tape had, and it would still be hard to try and get out of. Perhaps harder.

"There," Wanda said firmly, patting him on the back of his head. She rested her hand there for a long moment, her fingers not wanting to leave his light-colored hair. It needed to be washed, just like pretty much _everything_ about him now. She really shouldn't have shoved him in the dirt. Now he was more dusty and grimy than ever, and the only thing she could do to remedy it was something she didn't want to do. The fact of the matter was that if he needed to be washed, it was going to come down to _her_ to do that for him, as she was not going to let him go off on his own. Surely he would escape; he had already tried it once. Even though he had seemed genuine about not escaping now and wasn't in any condition to do so anyway, she didn't want to be lulled into a false sense of security. She had done it to the guards many, many times. She would NOT let it be done to her. But she did not want to wash him, either.

She carefully released him, sitting back in her chair thoughtfully.

"What now?" he asked.

"I suppose I could drug you again," she mused out loud, folding her arms across her chest.

"Yes, that was fun," John agreed.

Wanda felt her heat rise up in her face as she remembered why it was "fun." She tried to frown.

She failed, and looked away from him, towards the window. "Shut up," she mumbled, grinning sheepishly. She met his eyes and pursed her lips to get rid of the smile that had spread all over her face. Wanda Maximoff was not the type of person that just smiled senselessly at people.

"Go to sleep," she commanded. "I have to do some thinking."

"I can help," John offered. "I'm a _brilliant_ thinker."

"Right." Wanda rolled her eyes. "But I've got it under control, so get to sleep."

"What about—"

She reached out and covered his mouth with her hand, a gesture that strongly reminded her of what she had done to him earlier, when giving him that pill. She felt his lips smile against her hand, probably remembering that exact same moment. _Again_.

Wanda grasped him by the shoulders and forced him down onto his back, momentarily forgetting that his back was injured, and his tied up hands pressing it would not be too healthy for him.

"Ouch!" he cried, just barely refraining from screaming like a lunatic.

"Dammit!" Wanda exclaimed, leaning over him and pulling him back so he was slightly sitting; at least the pressure was off of his lower back. She proceeded to curse several more times before looking into his pained expression. "Are you okay? Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… I forgot…"

"I'll live," John groaned, closing his eyes.

Wanda bit her lip, feeling terrible again. And just when her guilt had been starting to fade!

Wanda had never really been good with apologies. There had never been a need for them at the asylum, and even if someone had owed her an apology back then, she had never gotten it. There, the only way to make something right was to do something good so that maybe the wronged person would get over what was done against them. Therefore, to apologize to John, she needed to do something that he would like, in order to cancel out the pain she had caused him.

She sighed wearily, her mind jumping instantly to the one thing that had garnered the strongest reaction from him so far out of everything she could remember doing to him.

"I'm sorry, John," she mumbled, and her lips abruptly made contact with his, in a brief, contrite kiss. Not giving him an opportunity to react, she quickly pulled away like nothing had happened, and, mindful of his back, she pressed him down on his side and pulled the slightly torn blanket up around his shoulders to cover him.

"Um…" the corners of his mouth flickered hesitantly upward. "It's quite all right."

Wanda began to pet the side of his head, rather pleased with herself. He didn't seem to remember the ache at all. She had been right. _Ha! Score one for me._ "Goodnight," she said, feeling unusually calm and relaxed.

John swallowed. "G'night."

She stayed seated beside him, drawing her legs up close to her chest. One hand wrapped around her own legs, the other remained petting John's head with slow, soothing motions, partially for her own benefit. Like Pietro, keeping in motion helped keep her brain thinking. If she kept too still, she would have to go to sleep or just go crazy. She knew this from experience. What a dreadful place that asylum had been. John sighed quietly. Wanda turned to her thoughts.

So Magneto hadn't come. Okay, then. He obviously hadn't had enough of an incentive to get over here. But what could possibly be something that would make him want to come over here more? Something that _wasn't_ a ridiculous amount of stress and work to deal with? Hmm… perhaps Magneto wasn't taking her seriously. Maybe he didn't think she would actually do anything to John, and since John wasn't in any danger, he didn't want to risk his neck rescuing the boy, just so Wanda could try and explode him (Magneto). But… she didn't want to put John in danger…

Wait. That couldn't be right.

"I'm getting soft," Wanda whispered. She was sitting on her bed, beside her hostage, caressing his hair like he was her puppy. She had kissed him three times already, and _all_ three could have easily been avoided. _Good lord, what is happening to me? I've become a total wuss. _But… why? She had certainly knocked him around and been mean as much as she could _before_ this. So what was the problem? Why had she changed? Before, she had possessed a hardened soul, no guilt, no nothing. She tried to barely let her emotions show. She didn't feel like she was as tough anymore. _Something_ had happened…

Wanda closed her eyes, trying to get her mind back on the train of thought it had been on before. Danger… she didn't want to put him in danger. Well, it was a little too late to avoid hurting him, as she had already given him several spectacular bruises, and what appeared to be a cracked rib. If Magneto could see _that_, then maybe he'd want to get over here. If only there was a way to show Magneto the injuries she had inflicted on John…

…Oh, but there _was!_

She could send pictures! Pictures would be perfect! John was in a sorry state right now; if she could take some pictures of him tomorrow (or technically today), then she could send them to Magneto and show him that she meant business. He needed to get over here soon, or else. She didn't know what she would do if he didn't.

A new ransom note and some pictures. Perhaps more threatening on her part, rather than calm, relatively civil-ness. Or perhaps she should send some sort of explosive spell through the mail… but then, what about the poor mailman who would have to deliver it? Hmm…

A soft sigh rustled into her thoughts from somewhere beside her. Wanda offhandedly glanced at John beside her, her hand still stroking him in slow motion over his temple and down his jaw line.

He was asleep.

Wanda was surprised. Of course, it made a lot of sense when she thought about it. He had probably had the longest day in his life, starting with her taking him to the bathroom, smothering him in his allergy, fighting his comrades, knocking him out with a metaphoric kiss of death, taking him out to Elysian Fields in a car she barely knew how to drive, waiting out in the cold, and then beating the living daylights out of him. And now, stripping him, slapping him, making him endure that painful examination of his ribs. Yes, it had definitely been quite a day. The thing that really surprised Wanda was how quickly he had passed out asleep. It was almost as if he trusted her or something, was relaxed enough that he didn't mind sleeping right beside her… at his own will. It was the first time to her knowledge that he had gone to sleep here without the assistance of her mutant abilities or drugs.

She gently continued to stroke the side of his face, wondering again why and how her resolve had turned from hard stone to something soft and not willing to physically harm. Wanda Maximoff had never been one to compromise her plans for another person. She had to fix this. He was just her hostage, after all, just some guy that she had kidnapped from his home, not someone that she was to sit by and caress or be remotely nice to. She wasn't supposed to have any emotions or anything towards him.

Well... she could fix that. She could be harder and colder toward him next time. She wouldn't even smile. And she _certainly_ wouldn't kiss him again! That was just complicating things. Wanda nodded to herself, ready to be firmer.

She was only here because it was comfortable, and nothing else. Even so, she scooted closer to John's sleeping body for his warmth and his presence. It was cold, and his presence sort of assured her that she was not in a hellhole anymore. She was in charge of her own destiny now. She could move her arms around him, she could fidget, she could hit him, she could kiss him; she could just do whatever she wanted. His presence was an assurance that she was not trapped anymore.

Wanda twirled a strand of his hair between her fingers, feeling slightly guilty. Right now, she was not hardened inside like she wanted to be. Not at all.

Right now, she was soft.

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_(You know you want to review...)_

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	9. A Call and Comfort

_A/N: This chapter equals ANGST. Also, I saw like, five movies about people with extreme psychological disorders, and if Wanda seems to go a bit overboard or something, then I blame it on that. Sorry I've been gone for so long. I had some extreme bad__ times. Anyway, read and review!_

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_I am not going to sit around here and be a pansy,_ Wanda said to herself, and she reluctantly climbed out of her bed and threw open her bedroom door, fuming at her weaknesses, forgetting that it was 4 AM, and only a crazy person would be awake this early.

She heard the sound of a sitcom laugh from the living room, from a TV. Hmm. One of the boys must have recently acquired a new TV, seeing as how she had exploded the last one not so long ago.

Wanda took in a deep breath. She really was not very keen on the idea of having to interact with anyone, _especially_ so early in the morning. But, she knew that if she wanted to go down there, she was going to have to deal with it. She could feel a great sense of foreboding. The boys would hear her, and then would pester her for long enough for her to inadvertently blow up the _new_ TV. She didn't want to get so pissed off that she wrecked something _again_.

Wanda crept down the stairs, her hand against the handrail. She heard the sound of a TV's channel being changed, and then changed again. And then a familiar giggle from the boy who called himself her brother.

What an idiot.

She entered the kitchen and quietly opened the cabinets, surprised to see that there was actually food in there. Hmm. So Pietro and the boys had actually gone out and bought some things for them to survive on. Well… that certainly had been nice of them.

Not very hungry, Wanda ate a few graham crackers, and needing something to do, she began searching through the drawers to see if there was anything worth rifling through in here. The drawers were old and didn't want to budge, so she used most of her strength to yank it back, accidentally ramming it into her stomach.

"Dammit," Wanda growled, angry that there wasn't at least something worthwhile in here. Just a roll of what had once been tape, but now was only the cardboard part with nothing on it. There was a soft rush of air around her and when she looked up, it was just as she had suspected. The one person here with the capability to piss her off more than screaming children, aside from their father.

Pietro.

"What?" Wanda demanded, slamming the drawer violently shut, more peeved than she should be, probably due to the dull ache in her stomach from the drawer. "You want something?"

"No," Pietro held up his two hands in defense. "I heard you in here, and then I started wondering what you were doing up so early. You rarely get up before noon."

"Well, today I couldn't sleep," she informed him.

"Oh." He glanced at the drawer. "What're you looking for? Maybe I can help?"

"I don't need your help," Wanda said flatly, turning to the next drawer and yanking it open. Placemats. Untouched placemats. Who _knew_ they had placemats?

"What about—"

Suddenly, the phone rang. Wanda and Pietro glanced at it in wonder. It was a rare occasion that the phone at the Brotherhood rang. Not only that, but it was about 4:15 in the morning now, and while the likelihood of anyone knowing their number was slim, the chance of them calling so early in the morning was even slimmer.

"It could be a wrong number," Pietro suggested, as the two of them approached the ringing phone together.

"Well, go ahead and answer it," Wanda instructed. "It'll wake up the whole house if we just let it ring."

"It says, 'Unavailable'," he observed, picking up the caller ID box.

"So what? Answer it already," she told him, putting her hands on her hips.

Pietro snatched the phone up. "Hello," he said professionally. "Thank you for phoning the Brotherhood; how may I help you?" A pause. "This is he; may I ask who is calling?"

Wanda rolled her eyes, opening the next drawer. Something shiny caught her eyes, and she grasped at it, only vaguely hearing Pietro's conversation.

"Oh, _you_." Pietro obviously knew the person, and probably wasn't fond of them. "No… I said no. Look, if you want him so badly… no, I'm not doing it… yes, and I mean it!"

Wanda smirked, holding up the shiny pair of handcuffs between her forefingers and thumb. Handcuffs. This was almost amusing. Or inspiring. She certainly had ideas now.

Pietro folded his arms across his chest, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder. "I said no, and that's final. I don't care what you do, but if you…" A pause. "…What?"

Wanda turned to look at her brother, aware a sudden shift in his mood. Something had upset him, something that the person on the other line had said. She frowned at him, catching his eye and noticing a twinge of guilt.

"Pietro," Wanda said firmly. "Who are you talking to?"

He frowned. "Nobody."

She heard a loud voice speak on the other line. It distinctively said, "Who's there?"

"Nobody…" He turned so his back faced her. She rolled her eyes, blatantly eavesdropping. "I know _that_. Well, what do you want me to—yes, father," Pietro said quietly, but Wanda had heard, and, suddenly enraged, she reached over and snatched the phone out of his hands.

"Where are you?" Wanda practically yelled, as the lights in the kitchen flickered and creaked ominously. "Don't you want John back?!"

There was a pause. "…Wanda?"

"Yeah, Wanda!" she shouted, gripping the phone hard enough to snap it in two. "Remember me? I _know_ you got my ransom note! We have to talk, father dearest. Don't you want your Acolyte back? I beat him up. I practically broke his rib. Don't you want to come _get_ him?!"

Another pause. Then… a click.

Wanda slammed the receiver down, her powers amplifying her strength somehow and smashing the poor phone to bits. She whirled around and snatched Pietro up by the front of his shirt, dragging him close before he had the opportunity to run.

"_What did he want?"_ she growled, shaking him a little to make him more willing to talk.

"Nothing!" Pietro put his hands up to her wrists. "Really, nothing! I swear, I didn't—"

"You're LYING!" Wanda bellowed, shaking him again. The sound of an explosion was heard from the living room area.

"I _just_ got that TV today!" Pietro complained, and Wanda waved her hand to smother the small fire that had started. She glared at her brother.

"The next thing to blow up is you," she threatened, "if you don't tell me what the fuck is going on here."

"I told him no," he began to admit, seeming quite nervous. "Just remember that, okay? I told him no."

"Get to the point!" Wanda yelled, dropping him on the floor. He landed unceremoniously on his bottom.

Rubbing his rear, he sighed. "He wants me to speed into your room and take Allerdyce back to him. He's getting annoyed."

"_WHAT?!" _

"I said _no_!" Pietro said hastily. "I told him if he wants him back so much, then _he_ should come for him!" Wanda yanked him back up by his shirt. "But, he doesn't care about _you_ or Pyro or even me, only himself, and so he's never going to come. All he wants is his protection squad of Acolytes and people to train all the time. We don't even matter."

"If you _ever…_" she growled, pressing her forehead against his. "If you _dare _to ruin my plans…"

"I won't!" he reminded her. "I told him no! He even told me that this was my chance to prove my loyalty to him, but I _still_ said no." He reached up and lightly patted her on the side of her face, trying to calm her down. "See? I _can_ be a good brother."

"Don't touch me," she snapped, and waved her hands to push him away. Scowling, she shoved him with a hex bolt, out of the room. The sound of him crashing into the wall was satisfying, and she looked at the shiny silver handcuffs that had wound up on the floor.

Wanda took a deep breath to steady herself, although she felt very much like breaking something. _That coward… that dirty coward… He doesn't care?_

She stormed up to her room, clutching the handcuffs in angry fists as she arrived in the hallway where the bedrooms were. How could her own father be such a horrible person? Wanda slammed her door loudly shut, groaning loudly and covering her eyes to stop herself from being overtaken by her emotions. So he had the audacity to _call_ _the house_ she was living at, but _not_ to show up to meet her? He had kept her out in the cold almost an entire night, and then called for _Pietro_ to go and do the job _he_ was supposed to do? How could he do that? Where was the justice? Sure, it wasn't a surprise, thinking logically; after all, he had abandoned her in an insane asylum for ten years, she shouldn't expect any extra sympathies now… but it didn't make it hurt any less. _My father doesn't care about me or anyone but himself…_ She had never wanted to believe it, no matter how often the very thoughts had crossed her mind.

She faced her dresser, looking at her face in the mirror. This wasn't where she wanted to be. She wanted love. She wanted a warm, happy family, a family who didn't send her away or plot behind her back. She wanted someone to tell her that she was a wonderful person and that they would love her forever. She didn't want to be the girl who looked destroyed, with splotchy make up trailing in tears down her face, with a dirty shirt, rumpled hair. Why, why, _why_ was life so tremendously unfair?

The lights dimmed and then flickered brightly.

She gripped the sides of the dresser, bowing her head so she wouldn't have to see who she was, who her father had made her, who she had become. She closed her eyes for a moment, and imagined a place that was warm and comforting and friendly. And she opened her eyes to glare at the hardwood of the dresser top, she found herself glaring at the mischievous mug shot of a man who was tied up on her bed.

John.

She snatched the picture up, feeling a surge of rage flow through her veins as she looked at him. He seemed pleased in this photo. She did not remember being very happy, ever, in her childhood. How dare he have been happy? She set the picture back down, knowing she had to calm down a bit, before anything else exploded.

She needed so badly to release her energy in some way. She needed to break something, hurt someone; she wanted someone to know what she felt like and tell her that it was going to be okay and not to worry. She wanted comfort.

But she wasn't getting it.

Without thinking, Wanda reached back and drove her fist straight into the mirror in front of her, shattering it into millions of tiny, painful pieces. She glared at her bleeding hand, dripping blood on shards of broken glass, the wooden tabletop, and the corner of the photograph.

She was not happy. And now her hand hurt.

"Erg!" Wanda slammed her already throbbing hand down onto the dresser and swept the shards of glass and the picture off of the dresser and onto the floor. She hated everything.

Breathing heavily, Wanda almost didn't hear the tentative, almost nervous voice that broke through her dark thoughts.

"Umm… you okay?"

Wanda whirled around and impulsively raced over, wrapping her hands around John's neck, squeezing him tightly, strangling him. She dug her fingernails into his flesh, almost pleased with his choking and his pathetic attempts to get free. His face was turning red and his eyes were filling with water, like hers. He was in pain like she was. He was going to die.

She drew her hands back, suddenly panicked. What was she doing? While he gasped with relief, Wanda felt herself tremble with guilt and fright. What had she done? She could have _killed_ him! She needed him, for Magneto of course, but killing him was definitely _not_ an acceptable way to release anger. He was fairly innocent here. His neck was bleeding slightly from where her fingernails had cut him, but where her bloody hand had grabbed him looked really bad.

_I am a bad person. _Wanda bit her lips, feeling especially horrible when she remembered that he had only asked about her well-being. The amount of emotions that consumed her was overwhelming, and Wanda did something that she hated to do in front of other people, that she would have rather died than do in front of her very own hostage.

She burst into tears and covered her face with her hands so he wouldn't see.

John made a soft sound of disbelief. "Wanda," he said hoarsely. Wanda turned away from him, trying to wipe her eyes, trying to keep him from seeing her break down. She put a scowl on to hide the sad trembling of her mouth.

She inhaled shakily, removing her hands and attempting to relax and control herself more, unconsciously perfecting her glare. If it weren't for the flow of tears, she would be perfectly plausable. "I'm okay," she said, more to herself than to him. "I'm fine. Go back to sleep, John. It's barely five. I'm sorry I woke you up." She swallowed, gingerly reaching out to him, touching his neck softly with her thumb.

"Come _on_," he said gently, and his nice tone just about killed her. Why was he being so damn nice? "Quit crying. You don't have to _cry_."

"I'm _not_," Wanda said, clenching her teeth, hiccupping violently. She peered at him from the corner of her eye. He was trying to sit up.

She turned, grabbing him from under his arms and pulling him up.

He smiled weakly up at her. "Thank you."

Wanda shrugged, not moving her hands from his sides. She sniffled, watching John try to pull his arms free. It was pitiful. They both knew he wasn't going to get out.

"I never know what to do when people cry," he ventured. "It actually makes me quite anxious. So I wish you wouldn't."

"Be quiet," she murmured, wiping her eyes again, keeping one hand against his side. He was warm. Warmth was all she wanted right now.

John inclined his head slowly. "What would you do if _I_ started crying?"

Wanda frowned at him. "Just leave me alone."

"Wouldn't that bug you?" he pressed, leaning slightly forward. "I could do it too, if I thought of my saddest memory hard enough."

"John, don't," she snapped, feeling a great sense of apprehension. She didn't know how she would handle her guilt levels if he did such a thing.

"So, will you stop?" he asked.

She bit her lip, wiping her eyes again. "I can't."

John looked down to the floor and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath that sounded like a shudder.

"John, stop," she demanded, grabbing him by both of his shoulders.

He didn't respond, just bowed his head low. His eyebrows contracted in the middle and the corners of his mouth turned down despondently. For one terrible second, Wanda feared that he really was going to burst into tears, much like she had. She just _knew_ that this would just make her worse. She gently shook him. "John," she said firmly, desperately... almost tenderly. "No. Please, don't."

"Why?" he asked, almost taunting, almost as if he was testing her. His eyes stayed closed. "I have more of a reason to cry here than you do, _I_ think."

"Come on…" Wanda swallowed, reminded that all of this was her fault: all his pain, all her stress. "John, you just have to hold on. Come on, you're optomistic. Magneto will come soon, and then this will all be over, for both of us."

There was a small pause.

John cracked one eye open, peering up at her timidly. "Do you feel any better?"

Wanda pursed her lips. She was vaguely irritated with him for making her think he was going to break down like she was, but in truth she felt a good percent better, and it was enough to neutralize her agitation. Through him, she had somehow assured herself. Somehow, in trying to "comfort" him, she had comforted herself.

She absently patted his shoulder, deciding to push this whole thing away from her mind. She stared at his face for a long moment, very unexpectedly remembering a certain soft sensation associated with him and his mouth in particular.

"Do you have to go to the bathroom?" she asked suddenly.

John smiled faintly. "A little bit."

"Okay," she said, putting her arm around him and helping him stand. She sighed wearily. "Let's go."

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_A/N: http:// valoofle. deviantart. com __--- A magical land with my growing Jonda art. Visit if you please._

_I'm hoping that it didn't sound crazy and sappy to you all. NOW REVIEW, please!_

_Review!_


	10. Strange Tortures

_A/N: Are you ready? Here comes some fun-filled Jonda. Rock on, Jonda!! In related news, I'm trying to keep this all rated T. Read and review, please! ;-D_

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Wanda fiddled with the clasp on the first aid kit that still resided beside her bed and then peered into the box of cheap plastic Band-Aids. She had already taken John to the bathroom, helped him brush his teeth, and she had made an attempt to wash out the little cuts her fingernails had put in his neck. A few of them were really deep, and she did feel pretty bad about that.

"Tell me if this hurts," Wanda instructed, placing a hand on his cheek and turning his face to the side. She briefly examined the crescent moon shaped wounds on his neck, then began unwrapping one of the band-aids.

"My throat hurts a bit," he said hoarsely. "You know, I ain't all that tough. One of these days you're gonna really hurt me."

"One of these days," Wanda scoffed, pressing the bandage to his injury. "I don't really intend to keep you around for all _that _long. I'm sending out the next ransom note today, and I'm telling Magneto to meet me tonight."

"What makes you think he's gonna come this time?" John asked, wincing slightly as she smoothed the bandage's edges down.

"I have my ways," she said, cupping his chin and lifting his face. He grinned up at her, and she forced herself to frown.

"Where are you sending the letter?" he questioned, while Wanda turned his face to the other side, taking out another bandage.

"Well, since I don't know specifically where Magneto is, I'll just send it to the Acolyte Base," she said, carefully covering his cut. "I guess they'll give it to him from there. It sort of worked last time."

"That's not very efficient," John remarked. "You oughta find a way to send it to him directly, or else you're just wasting your time. He won't get it with time enough to get here _tonight_."

"Are you stupid? If I knew where he was, I wouldn't even have kidnapped you," she snapped, like he was an idiot. "I would've taken care of this whole mess a long time ago."

Having finished bandaging his neck, Wanda sat so she was level to him and glanced over the cheap coverings on his cuts. "What makes you think he won't get it in time?" she asked, picking at the collar of the shirt she had given him to wear only a few minutes prior.

"Nothing," he said hastily. "It was only a suggestion, after all."

Wanda inclined her head, squinting suspiciously at him. "John," she said sternly. He averted his gaze. "John, do you know where Magneto is?"

"Nope," he said quickly, biting his lip. Almost… _too_ quickly. "I don't know a thing."

"You know where he is," she said accusingly.

"No," he shook his head vigorously. "No, no, I really don't. I… I don't."

Wanda scowled, grabbing him by his shoulders and forcibly turning him so he faced her. "Look in my eyes and say that."

He peered uncomfortably up into her eyes. "I don't know," he said quietly.

"You're a terrible liar," she told him, still gripping his shoulders. "Where is he?"

"Aw, bloody hell," he muttered. "Dammit, dammit, dammit…"

"_Lovely_ vocabulary you've got," she said sarcastically. "Now tell me where he is."

"I can't," he made a face, his gaze drifting up to the ceiling.

Wanda stared menacingly at him. "And why is _that?"_ she asked, her voice on the edge of violence.

"I just can't," he said sullenly. "Do you know what he'd _do_ to me if he found out I told?"

"Do you know what _I'll_ do to you if you _don't_ tell?" she threatened.

"Well," John twisted his lips to the side. "I'm not afraid of _you_."

"Don't you want to get out of here?" Wanda shook him a little bit. "Well, this is your ticket out! Just tell me, and we'll go down there and get rid of him, and then you're _free_."

"That's quite an appealing offer, but I'm not saying a word," he stuck his jaw out defiantly. Wanda fought the urge to punch him and decided to continue trying to reason with him.

"Why?" she demanded, not hiding her anger. "He's just a mean old man who ruined my life."

John nodded. "I agree. But he's a _powerful_, mean old man, and he _knows_ things. I don't think you realize how dead I would be if I told you where he was. That old codger knows _everything_, and he expects me to keep quiet for him, after what he's done for me. My apologies but, I just can't tell you."

"Name your price," Wanda told him, releasing his shoulders. "I'm willing to bargain."

"Are you, now?" he raised his eyebrows. "How 'bout you untie me and—"

"No," Wanda interrupted, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm not untying you, and I'm not leaving you alone. Anything else?"

He smirked, his eyes looking up into hers, carrying a hint of something that was very _not_ appropriate. She glared at him, her glare carrying the weight of an uncompromising 'Hell no.' "I can't think of anything else I'd want," he said, after a long pause, innocently shrugging.

"You're a jerk," she said angrily. "Why won't you just _tell_ me? What did Magneto do for you that was so damn special?"

"He kinda saved my life," John explained. "It used to be when I got mad, I wouldn't be able to control my powers very well, and one night at this pub, I accidentally burned up some drunken wank who had one too many smokes and was trying to push me around. He wasn't that injured or anything, but his buddies were real mad at me, probably 'cause it happened in the middle of everyone. And probably 'cause I laughed, too. Well, I knew he wasn't gonna _die_ or anything since I _could_ control it a _little_. It wasn't even that big of a fire. And perhaps he oughta have been nicer to me; I didn't even-- anyway, his little buddies came over to me and tried beating me up, and it was maybe twelve of them against one of me, and they overtook me like I wasn't anything. One of them had a knife on 'em and must've stabbed me like twenty times. Then they tried to light me up like I lit their friend up, and I wasn't in the right mind to stop it, so I got a lot of burns, too.

"Well, they left me in this alley, right? And I was as good as dead, let me tell you. But then all of a sudden, this old chap pops out of the sky and asks me if I'd like to join his cause. He'd been looking for me, apparently, and watched me get attacked and didn't even do a thing about it. But I was in no position to argue, so I just said yes, and he healed me up. He used the iron in my blood to make scabs or something. Saved my life, he did. You shoulda seen the look on those blokes faces when they saw me again…"

"And then you came here?" Wanda asked.

"After a couple weeks," John said, licking his lips. "You see, Magneto was dead set on having me. Don't know how he did it, but he managed to turn everyone in my town against me, and I didn't have any choice _but_ to leave. It doesn't really help when your pop is the firefighting chief and you're a convicted arsonist. Not too many people want to be on your side."

Wanda inclined her head to one side. "But I only saw a few scars on you."

John shrugged again. "I don't know how he did it."

"Here's the deal, John," she said slowly, measuring her words out carefully. "I really don't want to have to hurt you. But you're standing between me and my goal right now. And if you're not going to get out of the way, then I'm going to have to use… other, _adverse_ methods. And you won't like it."

"You don't want to hurt me?" he asked incredulously.

"Shut up," she snapped, feeling the heat rise up in her cheeks. "Are you gonna tell me what I want to know, or do I have to get it out of you some other way?"

John looked off to the side, pursing his lips in feigned thought. "Uh, I think you'll have to get it out of me some other way."

Wanda glared furiously at him, and then shoved him into the wall by her bed. She got to her feet and feverishly began pacing the room. He had known where Magneto was this _whole time_ and hadn't said a word. She had half a mind to waltz over and zap him to pieces… but she couldn't. He held the key to her vengeance. If only she hadn't already taken him to the bathroom! She had already given him one of her T-shirts, too, although she hadn't found any pair of pants of hers that he could fit in, and he was left in his lovely turtle shorts. What could she possibly do to get him to talk? Especially now that she had let it slip that she had no desire to harm him. Oh, how she hated herself for saying that; now he wouldn't want to tell—she would have to show him that she meant business.

"This is your last chance, John," she warned, stopping in front of him and placing her hands on her hips. "Tell me now, or suffer the consequences."

"What's the big idea?" he said scornfully. "To _torture_ it out of me? I hate to tell you, but that won't work. I been through a couple a methods myself, you know; ole Magneto has us go through a bit of torture every now and again just in case a situation like this ever arose. Who knew it would actually arise one day?"

Wanda stared at him, unexpectedly inspired. "I like your thinking, John," she declared, bending down by her bed and searching underneath it.

"Huh," John sounded amused. "I've never heard _that_ one before." He frowned, realizing. "…aw, bollocks."

Wanda had a small chalkboard in her hand. A bit flushed, she sat beside him on the bed and roughly shoved him again, so he fell onto his face on the floor.

"Oof," he groaned as he landed, turning his face to try and see where she was, and what she was doing with the little board. Wanda knelt down beside him, feeling oddly satisfied to know that she had the control here.

"What're you gonna do?" he scoffed, though she could hear the apprehension in his voice. "_Hit_ me with it?"

"No," she smiled innocently at him, enjoying the confusion in his expression. She met his gaze, and then she drew her fingernails slowly across the chalkboard. The chalkboard emitted a loud, ear-splitting screech that instantly gave her a migraine.

She heard him curse, and he visibly cringed, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. Wanda bit her lips, scratching on the board again, moving it slightly closer to him. She felt a throbbing pain in her temples, but did it several more times for good measure, hoping it was affecting John as much as it was affecting her.

"Where's Magneto?" she demanded, gritting her teeth.

"I'd tell you if I could," he shook his head, cracking one eye open to peer up at her.

Frustrated, she bopped him on the top of the head with the chalkboard, as it was giving her way too much of a headache; perhaps she would come back to it later if necessary. Both of his eyes opened and he smiled broadly at her. Wanda frowned and hit him on the head again, a bit peeved that he wasn't even saying "Ouch" or reacting. She paused for barely a moment, and then whapped him lightly on the rear end with the board.

John raised his eyebrows, looking extremely surprised. "Good heavens," he commented, stifling a grin. "I see you've gone back to that whole 'spanking' thing."

Almost reflexively, Wanda slapped him on his cheek, on the side of his face that was pointed up toward the ceiling, being that he was lying on the floor. "Be quiet," she told him. She thoughtfully set the little chalkboard down on the floor, and after a beat of hesitation, she leaned over him in such a position that he could not see her face.

"Wha—?"

She waited a beat, and then gave him a light poke in his side. He shifted away, the corners of his mouth imperceptibly curving upwards. Hiding a grin, Wanda prodded him again, just to be sure.

"Cut that out," John told her, twisting his body away from her and stifling a smile.

"Are you sure you don't want to tell me now?" she asked kindly, as if this were a polite request and not an almost threat.

"What're you doing?"

She gently pinched him on the side, and when he tried to reposition himself, she began to lightly pinch and squeeze his midsection, making sure not to get him where he had been bruised. He burst into laughter and tried to squirm away, which was impossible because of his position and how he was tied.

If only she hadn't already taken him to the bathroom; then she would have _really_ had something to hold over his head!

"Talk to me, John," she instructed, placing her chin on his shoulder so she could speak in his ear. She didn't want to have to speak too loudly over his giggling.

"Well, I—ha—can't," he sniggered, "if you don't—HA HEE HEE—stop!"

Wanda inclined her head, pleased. She remained leaning over him, her cheek grazing against his as she turned her face to look at him. "Yeah?" she pressed.

John sighed with relief and rested his forehead against the carpet. Wanda waited for a moment, and re-asked, "Well? Tell me, already." Patience had never been her strong suit.

"Oh," he said calmly. "It seems that I have forgotten what you want to know."

"Dammit, John!" she bellowed, not caring that she could be deafening him from such a close range. "_WHERE IS MAGNETO?!?!"_

"Oh, that. Sorry, I can't tell."

Wanda glared murderously at him, and promptly began to tickle him again. But it was hard to stay angry when he was laughing like that. She had never known that laughter could be so very contagious. There had never really been much hilarity at the asylum.

After about a solid ten minutes of torturing him with tickling, she stopped again, watching him somehow pant and laugh and cry all in one moment.

"Come on, John," she persuaded, one hand still on his side, just in case.

He coughed weakly. "Come on, Wanda," he said, imitating her tone. "Magneto will find out." He giggled helplessly. "That mad hatter's got spies everywhere—I don't know how he does it."

Wanda watched him for a moment and then leaned closer to his ear. "I don't think anyone else is here, John."

"Yeah, well, that's what he wants you to think," John declared.

She sighed in exasperation and continued tickling him, not really feeling guilty because as far as she could remember, tickling wasn't even painful, but it certainly could render a person powerless, which was exactly what she was going for. In fact, instead of being consumed with guilt, she was feeling fairly entertained.

She finally ceased this "torture" when she noticed that his body was heaving in such a way that indicated that he might throw up, and _that_ was something she just did not need to happen, especially on her room floor.

While he recovered, she tried to search her brain for more things she could do to him to make him want to tell her where Magneto was. Or at least, convince him that they were alone.

Hmm… the smell of Toad? No, too cruel… Fred in a bikini! No… that was even crueler… what could she do? She didn't want to actually physically torture him, and since he had said Magneto had trained them all in that aspect, it would be worthless anyway. What was something that Magneto might not have trained them against? Definitely bad sounds, and definitely tickling, but what else?

Wanda carefully pushed him over, rolling him onto his back so she could see his face and better judge his reactions. She carefully maneuvered his arms in such a way that they did not painfully press into his back.

"What did Magneto train you guys in?" she asked, pressing her hand on his forehead so he could not sit up.

"Uh, the traditional stuff," he said, sounding a bit nervous now that she had him almost flat on his back with no way to defend himself if necessary. Not to mention the fact that she was questioning him about torture.

"Pain?" she clarified, and he gave the best nod he could, given the circumstances and position he was in.

Wanda nodded to herself. _Pain. _She knew a fair share about pain. Well, if she was trying to _really_ get to him, she would have to torture him in a way that didn't deal with pain, a way that he didn't know how to handle. What was the opposite of pain?

…pleasure?

Wanda felt herself blush. There were only a few things she could think of that involved giving pleasure, and they all were a bit demeaning to a person's character. But if it was her only hope of finding out where he was… and she just _had_ to figure out where Magneto was. Then this would be all over. It was worth it, wasn't it? And she was _positive_ that he would have kept this away from his Acolytes. Magneto was a man that believed people shouldn't have emotions, who believed pleasure and all those good emotions were weak. He would never, _ever_ subject his minions to those weak emotions. Of course. That was the key here.

"Are you sure you don't want to just tell me where he is?" Wanda asked quietly, feeling her heart pattering violently in her chest.

"I can't," he said simply, attempting a shrug.

She bit her lips and sighed, halfheartedly resting her hand on his shoulder, making sure that her fingertips brushed against his bare neck between the crooked band-aids. She really didn't know how to go about this, being that every relationship in her past had been completely abnormal. And none of them had been romantic in any way.

John squeezed his eyes shut, probably thinking that she was going to strangle him again, or something violent like that. Wanda took this opportunity to lean up close to his face, and after a brief moment of thought, she swiftly kissed him, feeling him gasp with surprise beneath her.

She drew back a fraction; far enough so that she could make eye contact, but close enough that she could still feel the tiny tingles of energy between their lips.

John's eyes were wide and blue and shimmering with surprise and attraction. She grinned, delighted that she could do this to him, that she could shock and please him in such a way—for a moment, Wanda forgot why she was supposed to be doing all this.

She slowly, carefully ran her hands along the sides of his body, her thumbs moving smoothly across his rib cage on the way down and coming to a stop on either side of his hip bone. Her mouth came into contact with his again, this time more heated and prolonged than before. He squirmed underneath her, as if he was trying to break his hands free. But he couldn't.

When Wanda felt his lips and his body begin to react to her, she knew she was going to be successful. She pulled back from his mouth and pressed a kiss onto his cheek, then back further, on his jaw line, and then on the side of his abused neck.

"You're playing games with me," he breathed, trying to get his arms free again.

"Don't be silly," she whispered against his flesh, finding her way back to his mouth and kissing him fiercely again.

"I know what you're doing," John murmured, muffled by the woman on top of him. She propped herself up on one elbow, and the thumb of her other hand slid leisurely beneath the elastic waistband of his innocuous turtle patterned shorts. He inhaled sharply, his body tensing and reacting, even though it was only her thumb softly grazing against his pubic bone, the lightest of touches.

"Tell me where Magneto is," she instructed.

He groaned pitifully, closing his eyes so she wouldn't be able to see what was behind them. "Oh, come on…" he complained miserably. "Why are you doing this to me? Why me? Of all the bloody people in the world..."

"Just tell me where he is," she suggested calmly, her hand traveling slightly lower.

"Wanda…"

"John," she pressed a kiss against his collarbone, and he visibly swallowed. Her hand was now perhaps a fateful inch away from the place where she knew he wanted it to be. "Tell me, and _maybe_ something good will happen to you."

He bit his bottom lip, his brows furrowing in desperation mixed with anxiety. "But…"

She fleetingly touched her lips to his, and her fingers grazed him just an inch lower from where they were before. "It's just me and you here," Wanda coaxed, praying that he would tell, because she was quite curious about what secrets the male anatomy held… oh, right, and she had to find Magneto, too. "It's just me and you."

He let out a soft puff of air, in resignation. "There's this little house at the corner of Walnut Street," he explained. "It's red and has blue shutters. When Magneto knows he's in trouble, he goes there and he hides in the basement. It's number is 471."

Wanda kissed him on the tip of his nose. "Does anyone live there?"

"Well…" John glanced anxiously away, and her strong fingers curved around him, drawing his attention back. "Oh… well, it's just this lady. Uh, she's a mutant, too, and she can change shape—what's her name… oh, Mystique. Yeah, she lives there and I'm pretty sure she's the only one, but once I saw a cat."

"Is that all?" Wanda asked, watching his face carefully for any signs of untruth.

He nodded, his bottom lip jutting out in a sullen pout. "Yes."

She pursed her lips, knowing that she had gotten the information she needed, but she also knew what she owed him now…

Wanda sat up, admiring the mild unease that she could see reflecting in John's eyes. She could sense that as much as he wanted her to do something, he was also vaguely frightened of her power, and all of the harmful things she had already done to him in their short history together. But Wanda knew herself, and she knew that sometimes, even when her intentions were good, things didn't turn out as planned. Like when she had tried to feed him those poptarts. She wasn't about to risk hurting him in such a terrible way. She placed one hand on his forehead, and gave him a final kiss on his mouth. And then, with the hand on his forehead, she knocked him into the world of unconsciousness, knowing full well that she was going to feel bad about taking advantage of his physical needs like that later.

But as for right now, she had a mission to go on. And it involved the destruction of Magneto.

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_A/N: So, I was listening to some insane techno while writing this chapter. I never knew that it could help inspire THIS load of craziness. This just might be as drastic as it gets. Be afraid, be very afraid… so, REVIEW, yes?_


	11. Fear Me

_A/N: Hello world. I've been so swarmed with stuff in the reality realm I live in. I had finals, my birthday, graduation rehearsals, and college orientation/registrations. I graduated high school! Squeee!! And now I'm on vacation in Florida for this week. The good news is that I'm out of school till August and hopefully will have a lot of free time now, so I'll be able to work on this and the other stories that really need me as well. As for THIS chapter… I don't really know what I can say to defend myself. NUDITY!! (Still rated T) This was pretty difficult to write, too. So, um, please read and review, and rock on!_

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The house Magneto was located in was probably a few miles away, and Wanda figured that it would take some hours to get there. It was still fairly early in the morning, about 10:30 am, and she would have the entire rest of the day to get this done. Today was the day, and she knew it. Today was the day she would be rid of Magneto. She felt a mixture of excited and apprehensive, but there was a small part of her that feared that this was too good to be true. Nevertheless she knew that this was just natural doubt.

Wanda glanced down at John, who was still very passed out on her carpet, his chest rising and falling as peacefully as if he had willingly decided to take a quiet nap there. She bent and laid her hand on his unresponsive cheek, just to be sure that she had properly knocked him out.

She had.

Well then… it would probably be safe for her to go downstairs and eat something. Then she could come back up here, feed John, and then they could be off to Walnut Street. Today would be simple and straightforward.

Hopefully.

Wanda quietly made her way down the stairs, hoping that the other boys would not notice her, or at least, not greet her. She didn't feel like talking, especially since what she had just done to John was fresh in her mind. She had never done anything so… _extreme_ before. Those sorts of thoughts had just never really crossed her mind. Hmm. Perhaps it was the fact that she was about to reach her goal—getting Magneto—and it had majorly clouded her judgment. Surely that was why.

She heard the boys being loud and making commotion in the living room area.

"Two fours."

"Bull_shit_."

"Aw, man…"

"One five."

"Three sixes."

"Bullshit!"

"Read 'em and weep. Yeah, take that."

"Aw, man! I never win."

Wanda frowned, peering around the corner to figure out what on earth the boys were doing. Pietro, Lance, Toad, and Freddy were all sitting around the small square table in the living room area, and being that they could not watch TV, they were playing some sort of card game that Wanda didn't recognize. The only card games she knew were Go Fish and 52 Card Pick-Up.

She decided that she was curious enough to venture out there. Folding her arms across her chest, she entered the room and stood behind Pietro.

"Wanda, sweetums!" Toad exclaimed from his place across the table, pretty much invisible behind the almost full deck of cards in his hands. "Wanna play cards?"

Pietro looked up at her. "Hey, Wanda…" he said hesitantly, remembering how she behaved toward him just earlier that morning. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Wanda glared at him. "What are you guys playing?"

"It's called Bullshit," Pietro explained. "You can figure it out pretty easily by watching for a while."

"Uhh," Fred said, and he put down two cards. "Two sevens."

"An eight," said Toad, putting down one of his countless cards.

"A nine," Lance said boredly.

"Two tens," Pietro pronounced, putting down his final two cards, a two and a king. "I _win_."

There was a pause while the others rolled their eyes, sighed, and dropped their cards; like this was a common occurrence and Pietro always won all the games.

"I don't get it," Wanda said skeptically. "That's a two and a king."

"Uhh… bullshit!" Toad said hastily to Pietro.

"Wanda!" Pietro huffed in exasperation. "The point of the game is to _lie!_ You're supposed to get rid of all your cards by tricking everyone and catching people when they're lying."

"Oh." She rolled her eyes. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Pietro said, though he clearly was upset that he was probably going to lose the game now. "Do you want to play?"

"No," she shook her head. "I have things to do. By the way, Lance, I'm gonna borrow your car again."

Lance scowled over the top of his cards, but relented when he saw the threatening look on Wanda's face. "Well, okay. But don't make it all dusty again."

Wanda nodded agreeably, tried to smile at them all, and then she exited from the area, back to the kitchen, with not so much as a "goodbye." She was on a mission, a mission to destroy Magneto and start a new beginning. The only way she could ever _begin_ to live normally was to get rid of the monster who had ruined her life. It would get rid of all that inner hurt that Magneto had caused her. She could start having healthy relationships with others, like Pietro and the rest of the boys in the Brotherhood, who obviously feared her to some extent. Maybe she could even somehow have a healthy relationship with John after all this, but that prospect seemed bleak, especially after all the things she had done to him. She wondered if he would never want anything to do with her ever again. She wouldn't blame him if that was the case. But... wouldn't that be sort of... sad? John was _there_ for her, in this very odd way; wouldn't she miss him, even just a little?

...Of course not! Wanda shook her head to rid herself of that silly thought. She would certainly enjoy her freedom.

Once in her room, she bent down beside John on the floor, looking him up and down. Sighing, almost sadly, she carefully patted the side of his face. He was not going to be very happy with her when he woke up, and she _knew_ it. But she had to wake him up; it was now or never. And he was still tied up, so it wasn't like he could try to get away with any success.

After setting the cereal box and the milk on the floor, making sure to be careful not to spill, she pulled him up by his shoulders, leaning him against the wall in a sitting position as she sat across from him. She made sure that he seemed relatively comfortable, and she put her hand to his forehead to wake him with a light pulse of energy.

"John," she said firmly, and his blue eyes popped open, as if he was startled, reflecting surprise and frustration at her.

"What?"

"I'm going to feed you really quickly," she told him, sticking her hand into the cereal box. "And then we'll go to that house you told me about. Open your mouth."

John frowned, rebelliously keeping his lips tightly pressed together. Having anticipated problems, especially after what she had done to him—or rather, _not_ done—she gave him a little pinch on his upper arm.

"Hey—!"

Wanda silenced him by shoving a few little cheerios at his lips, and while he resentfully chewed, she took the opportunity eat some herself. Wanda watched him quietly for a moment. "I know you're mad at me," she said carefully.

"Huh."

"Well, you're just gonna have to deal with it," Wanda said, swallowing her portion. "Anyway, today you'll get to go home, after I get rid of Magneto. After here, we're going to start driving right over to that house."

"Fantastic," he said sarcastically. "I'm real excited."

Wanda stuck her hand back in the cereal box, glaring at him for his attitude. She snapped, "Don't be mad at _me,_ just because _you_ can't resist your own… _physical desires!"_

"Now, just wait a minute!" John exclaimed indignantly. "What you did was completely uncalled for! What'm I s'posed to—I couldn't _help_—what could I—" His mouth worked silently for a moment, as if he didn't know what he could say about this. "What's a bloke _supposed_ to do when there's a sexy shiela on top of him, trying to _touch_ him places?! You just took advantage of—you just—I can't _believe_…"

There was an awkward pause, and Wanda felt her face grow hot. She looked down at the cereal box to distract herself while she tried to make her face less pink. "You… you think I'm… I'm _sexy?"_

He shrugged, appearing slightly embarrassed. "That's not the point here," he mumbled.

Wanda pursed her lips, and quietly pressed some more cereal into his mouth. He silently accepted it, and she thoughtfully chewed on more cheerios as well, observing him and noticing his lack of eye contact.

"So…" John said slowly, visibly swallowing, half on the food, half in apprehension. "What would you do if Magneto wasn't there, at that house?"

Wanda gave him a look that would have made any of the other brotherhood boys instantly wet their pants. "Why do you ask that?" she asked menacingly. "Is there something I should know that you haven't told me?"

"No," John shook his head quickly. "I told you all that I know. And I'll probably hurt something fierce, once ole Magneto finds out. I meant, I wanted to know what you would do with _me_? "

Wanda sat back, inspecting his face curiously. "The bottom line is that I'm keeping you until I get him. That's all."

"Now, I ain't doubting you or anything, but what if you _never_ get him?" he pressed. "What then? You'll just keep me here forever, no matter what?"

Wanda frowned at him. "Yes," she said flatly. "You're mine until I destroy Magneto."

John smiled to himself. "You must like me a lot, to want to keep me for so long."

Wanda felt her face get bright red. "No," she said sullenly. "You're my bait, and that's _all_. And it isn't going to be that much longer, _anyway._ You don't know what I can do."

John bit his lips to stifle the smile. "You kissed me," he pointed out. "Remember? I know you remember because you liked it."

"No, I didn't," Wanda gritted her teeth, extremely annoyed that he would even bring that up.

"Then, why've you been doing it so much?" he countered.

"You be quiet," she glared at him, feeling somewhat self-conscious. "I don't have to explain myself to you." She sighed moodily. "And anyway, I'm not the _only_ one here that liked it! You know you liked it _just_ as much as me. So, just shut up already."

John smirked, obediently remaining silent.

Wanda huffed angrily. She glanced at the full cup of milk that was sitting beside her on the floor. "Are you thirsty?" she demanded, still trying to sound fairly professional as she held up the cup to scrutinize it with distaste.

He shook his head. "Nope."

She scowled, feeling her aggravation increase. "But I don't like milk. You have to drink this."

John pressed his lips together again, shaking his head. "Well, I don't like it either."

"I don't _care_," Wanda growled dangerously. "You're drinking this whether you like it or not."

"You can't make me," he said defiantly.

Wanda felt her irritation increase again, this time perhaps a millimeter shy of going over the edge. "Oh, yes I can. Wanna bet?"

"Do it, then," he challenged.

"You know I'm not afraid to hurt you," Wanda warned, wishing he would just cooperate. If he just obeyed without question or protest, then things would be so much easier. They might be extra boring, but they would be easy. "So why are you being like this?"

"Because," he pouted and looked away from her. "It ain't nice to tease."

"Well, then maybe it ain't nice to withhold information," Wanda retorted, slightly mocking his accent. She was able to mimic him almost perfectly because of the amount of time she had spent with him.

John glowered at her. He stuck his tongue out and blew a loud, rude-sounding raspberry.

Wanda's anger flared up again, and she impulsively thrust the cup upwards, splashing the majority of the milk into his face. He gasped from the shock, as the cold liquid poured down his chin, flowing into his shirt and all over his lap.

"Wanda!" he exclaimed weakly, while she pressed the cup to his wet lips, tipping it and forcing him to drink the small remaining portion. He coughed, but she continued to tip it, and the final drops spilled onto his lap and eventually found the carpet. "What's your problem?" John demanded hoarsely as she impassively regarded the slow dripping of the milk off his chin. She had known that she was being very childish, and he was just fighting fire with fire. What else could she expect from him in his position?

"You spit at me," she said, leaning back and folding her arms across her chest.

"You made fun of me!" he protested.

Wanda scowled at him, thinking that perhaps she should apologize. She had never really experienced a person being angry with her, and she knew that if he said the wrong thing to her, she was definitely going to lash out at him, and if it was her fault that he was mad, then it would be like extra her fault, if she hurt him in anger. She sighed heavily, lifting her hand and attempting to dry his face a little bit. He continued to pout, and Wanda could practically feel the waves of resentment emanating from him, which were probably multiplied by the fact that she had just showered him with cold, potentially spoiling milk. In any case, it wasn't as if she had ceased what she had been doing to him for no reason. She hadn't wanted to hurt him; it was a seemingly odd reason considering that what she had been doing had little to do with pain. But Wanda knew herself quite well. "Look, I'm sorry that I started that at _all_, but by not finishing, I was trying to protect you," Wanda said, grabbing him by his shoulders for emphasis. "Can't you understand that?"

John looked down sulkily. "Protect me from what?"

Wanda blinked slowly, and hesitated. "From me." He thoughtfully gazed at her. "What if I got mad?" she continued. "If I hurt you like _that_… I don't know… I'd feel… pretty bad-- I mean, it wouldn't be fair to do that to you."

"I'd feel pretty bad too," he joked feebly. He tentatively met her gaze. "Truthfully, I never really wanted children, but… uh, well, I'm glad that you care, sort of."

"Maybe we should go now," Wanda said hastily, feeling her face blush a little bit as a result of her admissions. She didn't want him to know that she would feel bad! That was like telling him a deep, dark secret, her number one weakness: her own emotions.

"No, wait…" he complained. "Can't I… can't you let me alone for awhile? So I can shower or something?" Wanda gave him an ominous look. "Please?" he asked. "I feel rather disgusting, now that I've got this nasty milk seeping through my clothes and all."

She pressed her lips into a firm line. Noticing her reluctance, he added, "I don't know if I'm of much appeal to Magneto in this condition. He might see me and flee in terror."

Wanda gave a derisive snort. "Well, it'd be easier to get him if he was weakened like that." He groaned miserably, seeming downhearted. She got to her feet and planted her hands on her hips, looking down on him pensively, noticing the occasional weak drip of milk off of one of the pointed strands of his hair.

She sighed, remembering bathing at the institute. It was when two doctors came in once a month and injected her with a tranquilizer so she could not protest, sprayed her with a garden hose, and then gave her a relatively cleaner strait jacket. All the _other_ prisoners got into a locker room together every other night to shower, supervised of course, by the doctors, but since she was in solitary confinement, things were different. Things were very different. And unfair.

And it wasn't as though she could just spray John with a hose. Well, she _could_, but it would be freezing at this time of year. And there was no room to do it around here anyway. But he was really quite dirty, still sprayed with mud and dirt from that little adventure to Elysian Fields, smudges of her blood on his neck from when she had tried to strangle him, and he was probably sort of sweaty and had the natural daily living dirt on him, as well.

And dammit, this was her responsibility. It had been her decision to kidnap him, so it was her job to take care of all the things he needed. She had brought this all on herself.

Dammit, dammit, dammit.

"You stay here," Wanda commanded, putting on her best menacing expression, so he wouldn't even think to disobey her instruction.

Not waiting for a response from him, she left her bedroom and proceeded to the bathroom. It was unoccupied, as the boys were still downstairs, playing their card games or whatever Pietro had made them do, now that he had probably failed to win that game. They would probably be down there all day, so it was clear to be up here with John. And it wasn't as if she would be doing anything wrong, anyway. She was actually doing something nice, it she went through with this. And all she had to do really was supervise him. It wouldn't be so bad to just watch a make sure that he didn't try any funny stuff. She could even close her eyes if she didn't want to see something. There was nothing to worry about at all, and it wouldn't take more than ten minutes.

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The currently only working bathroom in the Brotherhood had beige-colored walls, and was not the cleanest place in the world. It especially was not the sort of place a person would want to sit in and wait for someone else to finish bathing.

But Wanda was just going to have to deal with that.

She led John into the bathroom, violently slammed the door shut to intimidate him a little, and dropped her hands on his wrists, taking his two hands into her own.

"Are you listening to me?" she asked, leaning over his shoulder, by his ear. He nodded agreeably, probably conscious to the fact that if he did anything to upset her right now, he wouldn't get this privilege at all. "_Good_," she said firmly, her hand putting a painful pressure on his wrist. "Now here's the deal: you _will_ get to bathe yourself, all on your own. But _I_ will be sitting on the toilet lid to keep an eye on you. And you will be _sitting_ in the tub; you will not get to use the standing shower. It's because I can see through the shower curtain. And as much as I like y—I mean, I just don't want to see anything. Got it?"

John smirked, aware of what she had been about to say. "I got it," he said calmly.

"Just say _one_ word," she threatened, "Just one little, _tiny_ annoying word, and I will get over there and finish everything for you. And you _won't like it_ if I have to do that. Do you get it?"

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed. Wanda glared at him, wondering if he was trying to be insolent or annoying to her somehow, but she finally untied him. He sighed with relief, and she turned on the faucet, knowing that he could probably figure this out on his own.

"There," she said flatly. "Now do this as _fast_ as you can. We have other things to do."

"Alright."

Wanda sat down on the toilet lid and put her two hands over her eyes, to give him some illusion of privacy. He stared at her for a moment, probably very much aware that she was sort of peeking through her fingers. Then he shrugged to himself, and turned his back to her, lifting his shirt and beginning to divest himself of his clothes. Wanda watched in fascination through her fingers, and felt embarrassed when he glanced back at her over his shoulder, even though they hadn't made any eye contact.

John sat down in the tub and reached out to adjust the water's temperature, and Wanda removed her hands from her eyes. She folded her arms across her chest and tried relaxing a bit. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he would just bathe and there would be no problems or temptations or injury involved; maybe something would actually go as planned for once. _Maybe_.

She pursed her lips and allowed her eyes to drift over his shoulders and down his back, feeling that familiar pang of guilt at the sight of the reddish bruise on his lower back, and an even worse pang when he turned, and she could see the deep purplish one at the bottom of his ribs. They looked much worse than before, when she had been trying to fix him up. Well, at least she hadn't hit him any lower, or else she (and him as well) would have been feeling _really_ terrible. No, he definitely looked fine, especially down his lower back…

Wanda cleared her throat. "Hurry up," she commanded, looking at the tiled floor to distract herself. This was bad. Bad, bad, bad. They had to leave before her eyes wandered again. She didn't want those crazy ideas or temptations. His lack of clothes was very intriguing, and she didn't want to reach out to him and make herself think that she liked touching him. Her thinking she liked being by him and touching him was obviously an illusion because she had never touched another person the way she did him, and she just wasn't used to the feeling. "We have to get going."

"I _know_," he said, rubbing a lather of soap into his arms. "I'm still a bit injured from what you did to me. And so it hurts to move, kind of."

"It'll hurt a lot worse, if you don't hurry," she warned, leaning back in her seat. She might have pressed him more if it weren't for the fact that all of his injuries had come from her. She chewed on her bottom lip, knowing there wasn't much she could do to him that wouldn't make her conscience ache afterwards, anyway. She hoped he wasn't aware of these little regrets she felt.

"Wanda… I was wondering," John said slowly, thoughtfully. "Do you honestly regret being locked up for all those years?"

She gritted her teeth, shooting him a look of pure, unadulterated murder. "Why do you want to know about _that?" _she asked, danger dripping from every syllable.

John shrugged, noticing her menacing tone. "I just wondered."

Wanda scowled, clenching her fists to suppress the rage she felt every time that place was mentioned. "Don't be stupid," she growled, clutching her dark red towel in her angry hands. "Of course I do. I could have had a childhood. I had nothing."

"But you wouldn't be the person you are today, if all that hadn't happened," John reminded, using his two hands to rinse off the soap. "Do you like who you are?"

Wanda gave him another frightening glare, folding her arms across her chest. "What are you, my psychologist?"

He laughed out loud. "No. I'm your bloody hostage, remember?"

Not understanding what he could find potentially amusing about the situation, Wanda got to her feet, ready to give him some sort of lecture. "People are afraid of me, John. Since I was seven, people have always been afraid of me, like my father. My own _brother_ is scared of me. All the boys here are scared of me."

"_I'm_ not scared of you," John told her.

"Really," Wanda said sarcastically. "Good for you. The point is that even the people at the asylum were afraid, and they made sure to lock me away. Everywhere I go, people are careful around me, like I have some sort of contagious disease, like I could explode at any moment. Everywhere. I don't want to be treated like that. I'm a person, too. Sometimes, I just want to be given a chance. But people always act like they need to be extra careful around me, so that's never gonna happen. You don't know what it's like. I _could_ like who I am, I guess, if people didn't act like I was going to kill them at every turn. And they all think that stuff because of my time in the asylum. So, yeah, I regret it all. It made people fear me"

John smirked, appearing vaguely amused. "Well, Wanda, we both know you have a terrible temper, love."

Wanda blushed furiously, more at his word choice than the actual meaning behind them. "I do _not_," she insisted, planting one hand on her hip. She shook her scarlet towel in one hand. "Come on, it's time for you to get out. We have to go."

"But, Wanda…" John complained, cupping his hands over his lap to keep himself relatively decent as she approached. "I only just got in here."

"You're clean enough," she snapped, shaking the towel at him. "Come on."

"You're just sore 'cause I said you have a bad temper," John accused.

"John," Wanda gritted her teeth. "Get up now, or I will pull you up myself."

"Will you cover your eyes?" he asked reasonably.

"Why should I?" she demanded.

"Well…" John shrugged, his face pinkening slightly. "I ain't got a stitch on me. And… I'm a bloke, so… I'm quite different from you."

"I'm not four years old anymore, John," Wanda rolled her eyes in exasperation, feeling mildly embarrassed herself. "I know that little boys have penises and little girls have vaginas."

"Well, I'm glad you're educated," he said, still remaining where he was, sitting on his knees with his hands shielding his lap. He did not move a muscle, and Wanda found herself leering at him. There wasn't much to be left to the imagination from where she was standing. It occurred to her that she had him at possibly one of the vulnerable states that a person could be had at. Naked in a bathtub with a relatively unstable witch watching. She had the power here. And he was just so damned aesthetically pleasing.

Wanda scoffed in exasperation and exaggerated annoyance, but finally held out her towel and obligingly shut her eyes. She heard the soft swish of water as he stood and fought the strangely strong desire to peek at him as he took the towel from her. Once she was sure that he had wrapped it around himself, she popped her eyes back open.

"See, now that wasn't so bad," John said in a mock cheerful tone, and Wanda gave him another murderous glare. Of all the phrases in the world, that one was probably the one that she hated the most. Anytime those horrible doctors and guards had managed to find a way to get her to do something she didn't want to do, she heard that atrocious saying.

Of course, John had no way of knowing that.

Enraged and reminded of a specific bad aspect of the most terrible place she knew, Wanda reached back and struck him, the heel of her hand jarring his head back, shoving him backwards into the cold tiles of the bathroom wall and making him stagger.

"Oww!!" he cried, clutching his nose with his eyes squeezed tightly shut. "Ohh… bloody hell! What did I do to deserve that?"

Wanda shrugged, not wanting to tell him what phrase had made her angry, feeling that he would repeat it, just to irritate her. She was sure that she had been mean enough to deserve that from him.

"It was 'cause I brought up that place, wasn't it?" he asked, still holding his nose with both hands. "I was just trying to make conversation 'cause my folks wanted to send me to one of those places when I was a tyke. Is that such a crime? It can't have been all _that_ bad."

She pursed her lips, watching him lean against the cool wall, obviously in some pain. "You don't know what it's like," she said angrily. "Everywhere you go, people running away, thinking you'll blow their heads off somehow, acting like you're a rabid animal. People who fear you for no reason. So they lock you up and treat you like less than a human. You don't know what it's like to sit in a cold room where you can't move your body, hungry or having to pee, or itchy and not able to scratch yourself—you can't do anything, and you have to wait until someone else comes to drug you up or take you to wherever you're going next. You have no idea the things I went through! So don't act like you understand me—_no one_ understands me!"

"What are you going on about?!" John exclaimed, moving his hands away from his nose, which was bleeding freely and bright red at the tip. "I understand _exactly_ what's going on! You've_ made _me understand! You've done all that to _me_!"

Wanda planted her hands on her hips, watching the slow dripping of the blood down his face with some interest, her eyes drifting down his chest unconsciously. "I haven't treated you _that_ badly."

"Okay, well let's think about this," he put his hand to his chin, feigning deep thought. "Let's think about _all_ the fun things you've done to me. First, you kidnapped me in the middle of the night when I was in the middle of my writing; you took away my good clothes; you tied me up _real_ tight; you tried to drown me with bottled water; you tried to poison me with cinnamon—which I am _allergic_ to, by the way—you drugged me so I would sleep for a whole day; you beat the living _daylights_ out of me; you won't quit hitting me _here_," he gingerly touched his rosy cheek, and winced. "You… misleadingly seduced me, and now you've covered me in _milk_. And _now_, you're accusing me of not understanding. I understand perfectly, Wanda. I think _you're_ the one who isn't understanding."

Wanda pursed her lips, not wanting to respond to his accusations. "Dry yourself off," she instructed, refusing to acknowledge any of it.

"I know you heard me," John said, cautiously touching the tip of his nose. "Go on and ignore it. I know you'll think about it. You and I can relate to each other on this. So, we can move onto a different subject now."

"Does someone fear you?" she asked, tugging him out of the bathtub by his forearms, almost tripping him.

"But of _course_," he nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Little kids don't naturally want to burn things up and watch a fire blaze on and on. There was something in me that wasn't right, and people get scared of that." He smiled to himself. "I didn't exactly keep my love for fire a secret, though, so…"

"Is that why they wanted to send you to an asylum too?"

"Oh, yeah," John wiped the blood on his hand on the side of the red towel around his waist, where it would be invisible to the naked eye. "I _always_ been a pyromaniac, ever since I was a wee little tyke. Even before I tried controlling it. People thought that was unnatural, and wanted to fix me. You know, my folks even called a priest to exorcise me once." He chuckled to himself. "Very religious people they were. Of _course_ they didn't want their little son to be playing with the scary fire. I just don't know what their problem was." He paused thoughtfully. "They probably just didn't see the beauty."

"The beauty?" Wanda repeated skeptically.

"Of course," he nodded to himself. "The beauty of burning. There's just so much more to burning than meets the eye, and most people don't ever see it. They might think it's like, 'Hey, I'm feeling loony. I think I'll go off and burn some curtains.' It's _so_ unlike that. It's not about just _burning_. I mean, you can watch the lovely little flames slowly eat up something that was solid a minute ago, and it can completely change forms and _melt_ or something, all because of this beautiful, powerful fire. Fire can change everything, and you can feel the heat and see the shining little light while it does so! Fire will always keep you warm and dry, and it can _frighten_ and _destroy_, but it can be so _wonderful_ and _hot_ and it's practically the key to all life on earth! Where would people _be_ without something so precious?"

"I'm surprised you haven't gone through withdrawal yet," Wanda commented, placing her hand on his bare shoulder and picking at one of the band-aids still on his neck.

"Me too," John scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Fire was practically my whole life before you stole me away."

Wanda sat him on the closed toilet lid, and pulled a hand towel off of the little rack behind them. "Close your eyes," she told him, but before he could even consider obeying her, she had pinched his nose in the cloth, soaking up all the blood.

"OWW!!" he hollered, reaching up and placing his hand over top of hers on his face, to try and alleviate some of the pain. "Not so hard!"

"That got most of the blood," she remarked, pulling the towel away and leaning close to him to examine his face. He pouted, looking quite upset.

"Did you break my nose?" he asked.

"I don't think so," she said, gesturing for him to move closer. She lifted his chin with one hand, and then gently pressed on the bridge of his nose with her index finger. "Yeah, it's fine." She carefully pinched the tip of his nose, frowning slightly. "Has your nose always been this way? Pointed up like that?"

John's face grew pink. "Yes," he said defensively. "Why? What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing; it's ador—it's okay," Wanda shook her head, releasing his face and sitting back on her haunches. "It's not broken. Maybe it's bruised."

"Wonderful," John said sarcastically. "What am I going to wear?"

"I'll find you something," she said, pressing the bloody towel into his hand. "Use this to stop the blood flow."

He put the towel up to his nose, eyeing her warily. "How many more times do you intend on hurting me or beating me up?"

"How many more times do you intend on saying something stupid that might provoke me?" Wanda retorted, arching an eyebrow. She held out her hand, not listening for a response. "Come with me so we can get you clothes and get out of here."

John raised his eyebrows. "What, like just walk with you? You aren't gonna tie me up and drag me or throw me in your room?"

Wanda glared threateningly at him. "This offer expires in: three, tw—"

"Wait, I'm here," he said, reaching his arm out to her. She snatched his hand up and the two of them left the bathroom together, hand in hand.

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_A/N: These chapters just get longer and longer… _

_Review, it helps me not suck as much!!_


	12. The Heat of the Moment

_A/N: Welcome to the BATTLE. Woot! In other news, tomorrow is my anniversary of being a member on ffnet for 3 years—hot dang! Fun fact: I was a lurker for about a year before that, and I had this fat little notebook where I wrote down all the stories that I would periodically check on for updates since I didn't have email, and I was SO obsessed—because I OBVIOUSLY am not obsessed _now-coughcough-_ ahh, interesting times those were… anyway, read and review, please!!_

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Wanda faced the dirty windowpane in her room, watching the vague reflections in it, and not the frightening clouds that were forming in the sky. From her distance and the dirt on the glass, there unfortunately wasn't much of him she could make out, but hey, she was still supervising somehow.

She almost couldn't believe herself. She was letting John dress himself, all by himself, and she was watching him through the shadowy reflections in the window. All she knew was that if she turned around and got involved in redressing him, then she would end up either hurting him, or doing something she would regret. Like touch him. Like talk with him. Like… like him.

He related to her. He knew what it was like for her, and a deep, very hidden, very secret part of her sort of, kind of, _really_ liked him for that. Why _wouldn't_ she appreciate that someone else sort of understood? But obviously that was a problem; she wasn't allowed to have any connections with him, other than the fact that he was her hostage and she was in charge of him for the time being. And soon, she was going to have to set him free because she was about to kill Magneto.

And after that, she _should not_ care.

Wanda put her hand against a chest of drawers by the window, and she pulled the drawer open, to distract herself and see if there was anything of interest in there. Some old pictures… deodorant… a few writing utensils… a few lighters… Wanda glanced back at John quickly, to see if he was paying any attention to what she was doing. He was too busy trying to button up the buttons of the dressy-ish shirt she had given him. Dressy clothes were probably the only kind of clothes that the boys in the Brotherhood would not miss, and therefore, they were the best choice. And he didn't look half bad in them, either…

Shaking her head to bring her focus back to the drawer, Wanda snatched up a few of the lighters, examining them carefully as she remembered that these things were the key to John's mutant power. What if she needed his help or something while they were there? Perhaps it might be a good idea to bring one of these… and she was sure she had a few in here that had no metal in them, for the sole purpose of foiling Magneto.

Wanda pocketed a plastic lighter thoughtfully, and hearing the light shuffle of movement from John, she slammed the drawer loudly shut. "Are you finished, John?" she snapped, putting extra forcefulness into her voice to try and give him the message that even though she wasn't tying him up, she was still the boss.

"Yeah." Wanda nearly jumped out of her skin as she felt John's hand touch her shoulder, as if to signal to her that she could turn around. She scowled, clenching her fists instead of striking him; it was particularly difficult not to strike because he looked so damn amused at the fact that he had startled her.

"How's your nose?" she asked, taking his hand off of her shoulder and pulling it down by his side.

"Still hurts." John crossed his eyes to try and look at it, and Wanda made a soft sound that indicated that she thought he was being an idiot.

"Hmm." She scanned his body, feeling vaguely proud that she had found something around this place that fit him well, even if he did look out of place a bit. Wanda cleared her throat and snatched his hand again, tugging him gracelessly out of the room. "Come on." She was determined. This was her day.

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The outside world was bitter cold, and tiny flakes of snow were slowly drifting down to the ground, floating around the air aimlessly with the icy breeze. Lance's car was already chilly to the touch, though it couldn't have been very long that it had been snowing.

Wanda shoved John into the passenger seat, allowing him the privilege of buckling his own seatbelt and situating himself however he wanted. She sat in the driver's seat, buckled herself, adjusted the rearview mirror, and then glanced at John beside her, who was gripping onto the armrest with some level of unease apparent in his eyes.

"Are you afraid?" Wanda smirked at him, aiming the key for the ignition and missing.

John took a deep breath and shut his eyes, apprehensively noticing how many time it took her to find the ignition. "Nope," he said, sucking his top lip into his mouth. "Although I will admit that your lack of driving experience does make me a bit… edgy."

Wanda laughed as the key found the ignition, and they took off, driving over the curb on the way out of the parking lot.

The temperature dropped steadily as the day began to progress into the afternoon and the sky's light began to dim. This might have not bothered Wanda in the slightest if only Lance's jeep had been the kind that had a roof on it. She had no way of knowing how to attach the little sunroof thing on the top of the car, and so the freezing air began to really get to Wanda, and John as well, who began to shiver a few minutes before Wanda decided to do something about it.

"John," Wanda said authoritatively. "See if there's a blanket under the seat."

John obediently reached underneath the seat and pulled out a very large neon pink blanket adorned with even brighter green stars, something that Lance had probably gotten as a gift from Kitty. Wanda rolled her eyes at the sight of it; but as much as it hurt her retinas, she would have to deal with it, as it was probably below freezing out here. Before she could instruct John to do anything else, he unbuckled himself and reached around her, draping half of the blanket over her shoulders and effectively diminishing her goosebumps. He hesitated for a moment, and then scooted up close to her, his side grazing against hers as he pulled the other end of the blanket into himself, successfully enveloping the both of them in one big, blanket cocoon, with Wanda's arms sticking out, holding onto the steering wheel.

"John…" Wanda began, not quite sure of what she wanted to say; to go away, or to come closer?

"You gotta admit, it's a whole lot warmer this way," he told her, smiling and pulling the corner of the blanket up to cover the bottom half of his face.

"Just be quiet," Wanda murmured, not willing to admit anything of the sort. Especially because it was true.

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The house was exactly as John had described it, and Wanda felt a degree of pride at knowing that her advances on him were powerful enough to make him describe something that he wasn't supposed to describe in such detail.

It was a reddish brown tinted house, with the rusted numbers "471" peeling slightly off of the door's frame. The shutters were a navy blue color and one even looked like it was about to fall off of the hinges. It was a fairly run-down looking house in a fairly run-down looking neighborhood, and certainly was one of the last places she would have expected Magneto to stay.

Wanda drove past the house, not wanting to alert any of the residents in it by parking Lance's car right in the driveway. She parked at the other end of the street, just barely missing hitting a fire hydrant, and she glanced at John, who was slouched down and pressed against her side, and the only parts she could see of him were his sleeping eyes and his bright hair; the rest was covered up by the blanket.

It was snowing a bit harder by now, and the sky had become a dark grey color with no discernable clouds. Wanda could tell by the distant rumbles of thunder that some sort of a storm was on its way; not that it was a bad thing. It only aided her determination and the overall mood of the occasion.

"John, we're here," Wanda announced, rotating her shoulder to wake him. He mumbled to himself, and she prodded him lightly in the center of his forehead with her index finger. He didn't make any motion to show that he was awake. Mildly exasperated, and a little embarrassed that he had fallen asleep on her, she leaned forward, allowing him space to slump across the seat behind her.

"Hey," she said, gently shaking his shoulder. "Wake up; we're here."

She shook him lightly at first, but as she saw it had no effect on him, she began to shake him a bit more roughly until he groaned and sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes irritably.

"Can't I stay here?" John asked, as she opened the car door and climbed out.

"We don't have all day," Wanda said impatiently. "Come on out already."

"But…" John inclined his head. "Magneto is going to kill me. Have you no sympathy?"

"He is not," Wanda scoffed.

"He _is!_"

Wanda rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest. "John, come out here _right now_." John furrowed his brow in concern, but reluctantly obeyed. "I think you're being overly-dramatic."

He pouted. "I think you're not being dramatic _enough! _Don't you realize what I _did_? I told you where Magneto was, and I was sworn to secrecy. Not only that, but you've gotta be the worst person I could've ever told! You wanna kill the guy!" He gave an almost sad sigh. "I'm a dead man."

Momentarily ignoring the rant, Wanda hooked her arm into John's, physically pulling him down the sidewalk. He stumbled a bit on his way, as Wanda thought about what he had said. If it was true, then he would definitely need some sort of protection. And she was going to be preoccupied with killing Magneto, so she wouldn't be able to defend John if need be. And if for some reason she needed his help, then letting him have this could benefit her as well.

Wanda jammed her free hand into her pocket, touching the lighter in her pocket, thinking for only a moment. This was half a good idea and half a crazy, crazy idea. She suddenly whirled around, stopping so abruptly that John walked right into her, since she had been halfway leading him, and he nearly tripped backwards.

"We're not there yet," John said with a frown.

"I know," Wanda said, taking his hand and turning it over to expose his palm. She paused for a moment to examine it, though it wasn't necessary.

"Ummm…" John arched an eyebrow, appearing confused. "May I ask what you are doing?"

"You may," she turned her face up to his and lowered her voice as if she was trying to keep the wind from hearing her. "I have something for you."

He inclined his head, appearing very surprised and fairly pleased. "Really?"

"Yeah," Wanda pressed the plastic lighter into his open palm and curved her fingers over his to close his hand carefully into a loose fist. By the way his eyes widened and his lips parted, it was obvious that by touch, he knew exactly what the object was.

"Wanda…" he said weakly, his eyes filling with tremendous admiration.

"You're _not_ allowed to use it unless something bad happens," Wanda instructed, feeling a tiny smile tug at the corners of her mouth. "It has no metal in it at all, so it will be safe."

"Oh," John smiled fondly at it, and then at her. Wanda expected him to verbally thank her or something similar. But that was not what he did. He seized her by her upper arms and before Wanda could think to react, his lips crashed against hers in a fierce, unexpected kiss. She gasped briefly in surprise, bringing her hands up and grabbing onto his upper arms, half intending to push him away, half intending to pull him closer. Her hands never managed to make up their mind in that particular battle, instead finding a comfortable place around his elbows, but her mouth managed to respond quite a bit before they broke apart.

Wanda stared at him for a long moment, feeling even the wind momentarily cease, waiting for her reaction. She licked her lips, which made John blush slightly. "What was _that_ for?" she demanded, sounding angry, but her hands were still stationary on his upper arms, nullifying her voice's effect.

"I don't know," John shrugged, smiling sheepishly. "The heat of the moment, I suppose."

"Right," she rolled her eyes, smothering her smile the best that she could, as this was not the time for her to be getting all smiley and full of those unfamiliar feelings again. Right now was the time for focusing on The Goal. Get Magneto. Nothing to do with John.

Wanda removed herself from him, staring up determinedly at the reddish house that Magneto was in, only a few feet away now. She hooked her arm into John's again, beginning to approach the front of the house.

"Wait a minute," John said, stopping suddenly and almost pulling Wanda backwards because of her velocity. He continued, ignoring the death glare he was getting. "What exactly are you intending on doing here? You can't just ring the bell and expect to be let in."

Wanda paused, still giving him that angry look although she knew that he was absolutely right. She frowned, not wanting to have to ask him for his opinion, while knowing it would be very valuable in this situation. There was a brief silence.

"Is there like a secret entrance or something I should know about?" Wanda asked, folding her arms across her chest.

"No." John hesitated, not wanting to repeat what he wasn't supposed to say in the first place. "He's… he's in the basement, remember?"

Wanda stared at him, tapping her foot impatiently. "And?"

He arched an eyebrow. "In most houses that have a basement, there's a window in the back of the house, so you can escape it in case of fire."

"I see," Wanda nodded meditatively, altering her path. The two of them were quiet as they made it to the back of the house, and Wanda crouched down beside the window, noticing how big it was. This whole house was rather large overall. Wanda glanced at John beside her, who was pressing his lips together.

"There he is," John whispered, pointing at the glass.

And there he was. Magneto was sitting on an old, faded looking couch, watching a tiny TV. He looked like any ordinary man, just watching TV in a living room by himself, with a can of diet soda in his hand. That bastard.

Wanda squinted, feeling the rage inside begin to grow, and suddenly, the glass of the window cracked. Wanda instinctively ducked down, knowing that Magneto would look, but John remained upright, very visible to the Master of Magnetism.

"John!" she hissed. "Get down, dammit!"

"No, I've got an idea," he said, waving at the window to his boss. "Just pay attention to what I say, and you can get him easy."

"John…"

"Shhh…"

The window suddenly flew open, and Wanda held her breath. She was right underneath the windowsill. She was within touching distance of John's body; she was just below the worst man in the universe.

"Pyro!" Magneto bellowed. "What the hell are you doing here? What is this crap I hear about you letting yourself get kidnapped by Wanda? That is _not_ what I expect from one of my own Acolytes. Did you escape, or did she give up?"

"Neither, sir," John said calmly.

Wanda could tell that Magneto was giving him perhaps the same death glare she had given John a few minutes ago. "Well, how did you get here then?" he snapped.

"Well," John puckered his lips thoughtfully. "I actually _told_ Wanda that you were here. She's here right now to get you."

"_WHAT?!"_ Magneto roared, reaching out of the window and angrily snatching John up by the front of his shirt. Wanda stared up at John, unable to believe what was going on. She didn't know what she would do if he betrayed her position to help Magneto out. Oh, if he did… he would never rest peacefully; it would be a worse fate than what she intended for Magneto.

"Yes, sir…" John's voice was small, and Wanda could see one of Magneto's hands reach out and squeeze his neck, cutting off his air, strangling him. Just like Wanda had, except Magneto was probably not going to change his mind halfway through. "As I speak… she's at the front door." Wanda frowned up at John as he breathed with difficulty. "She's gonna… break it down… and come after you. You'd… better come out…"

Wanda felt a feeling akin to her heart jumping up. John _wasn't_ going to tell on her; he was making it easier. She could have kissed him right then… if it weren't for the situation.

"You'd better come out…" his face was turning a dark, unhealthy red. "If you don't want to get killed… come out this window, here."

Wanda shut her eyes, focusing her energy on the front door. There was a terrible pause… and then the satisfying sound of the front door crashing as it crumbled to pieces.

Magneto suddenly released John, letting him fall onto his back on the cold grass. John made no attempt to get back up, and Magneto cursed under his breath.

"Dammit…" There was a shuffling sound, and then Wanda saw his leg stick out the window, as he began to climb out of it. Swallowing her sympathy for John, she began to quietly conjure up a large, electric blue hex bolt. This one was going to be for her childhood, for all the hurt she had ever endured at the hands of those dreadful doctors, and for all the things that John had been through as a combined result of it and her desire for vengeance.

Magneto stepped onto the ground outside, scowling down at John as if he had the plague. John turned his face, and made eye contact with Wanda, who got to her feet, clenching and unclenching her fists, which were enveloped in blue.

Noticing John's gaze, Magneto turned around.

"Hello, father," Wanda said, throwing her arms out and blasting him with the very large bolt of energy. Magneto fell flat on his back, and hastened to get back up.

"Wanda!" he gasped, sounding positively furious. "What're you—but Pyro said—"

"Oops." Wanda smirked. "Just kidding."

Magneto raised his own hands into the air, trying to gather any metal in the area, anything on her person… but Wanda had been prepared.

"Wanda, listen to me," Magneto said, backing away slowly, sounding the tiniest bit panicked. Wanda had turned off his power somehow, and he could not pull anything metallic from inside the house, either. "You don't want to do this."

"You can't tell me what to do!" Wanda yelled, approaching him like he was some sort of filthy insect that needed to be squashed. "Did you listen to _me_ when I told you I didn't want to be put away? Why should I listen to _you_ now?"

"I am still your father," Magneto declared, seeming increasingly intimidated as she came closer and closer.

"You are _nothing!_" Wanda shouted. "I don't owe you a thing!"

Suddenly, Wanda heard a soft murmur somewhere nearby, and in one tiny moment of concern, she glanced over at John, who was still splayed on the grass, his hand touching his forehead like it hurt. In that tiny moment, Wanda was distracted, and Magneto summoned the can of soda he had been drinking, expanded it, and knocked Wanda off her feet with it. Magneto climbed on top of the now expanded piece of metal, taking off into the dark sky.

"No!" Wanda sat up on her knees, raising her arms to the heavens, trying to focus on making it storm harder than the current freezing winds and mild snow. She wanted it to hail and thunder and become miserable out here. She wanted him to be stricken by lightening.

Wanda glanced over to John again, watching him stagger to his feet as if he was drunk, one hand bracing himself against the wall of the house. He thrust the other hand in the air, almost as if he was pointing something at the fleeing form of Magneto. A huge burst of flame came from his hand, shooting upwards in the air, one long, fiery beam that struck Magneto and made him visibly stumble on top of the metal platform he had made for himself. Wanda focused her energy on weakening the metal, while John prodded at him with the fire, and in an instant, Magneto began to fall to the ground.

There was a loud splatting sound as Magneto fell back to earth, and Wanda heard the thunder in the sky. Thunder was good; it was part of what she wanted. She curled her fingers up in the air, like there was an invisible ball in her hand, and there was a loud crack from the heavens, a bolt of lightening, lighting up the empty neighborhood like the sun might, and then everything was quiet.

The world was quiet. Even the wind ceased. Approaching, Wanda nudged her father's body with her toe, and there was nothing. No response of any kind. She could not even see the rise and fall of his chest. He was not breathing.

A dead silence.

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_This is the rhythm of the night!_

_REVIEW!!_


	13. Freedom

_A/N: I'm excited as well as saddened… only a couple more chapters left after this one! Don't forget to review—WE'RE ALMOST THERE!!!!! In other news, this chapter has a lot of emotion. Well, I tried. Hopefully it turned out alright. Please review... :-D_

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Wanda clenched and unclenched her fists, suddenly very aware of her surroundings. It was storming, it was cold, it was windy, a man was lifeless at her feet, and John was leaning against the house, looking very tired and dazed. He bowed his head down, breathing hard, with one hand on his forehead, clutching a handful of his hair in a weak fist.

She wondered what Magneto had done to him. Magneto… this man that didn't move on the floor. It was true that he had been a bad man, but… this was a peculiar feeling. Perhaps one fourth of the feeling was satisfaction, but the other 75 percent was the feeling of her heart rate quickening. She had killed her father. She really had done it. She had been plotting this for practically forever, and now it was over. Wow... now what?

It was thundering loud enough to rumble the ground. Wanda stepped away from Magneto, filled with the unexpected desire to go far, far away and never return. She wanted to leave and never deal with the consequences of what she had done. She momentarily wished she had Pietro's powers and could just run, run, run.

Pietro. What was Pietro going to do when he learned what she had done? Magneto was Pietro's father too…

"Wanda?" John sounded very quiet. She wondered if he was going to be okay, especially his throat. She glanced over at him, a question written in her wide eyes: why? John swallowed, an action that looked like it really hurt. He asked, "What're we gonna do now?"

"Are you okay?" Wanda did her best to keep the concern in her voice to a minimum.

"I'm fine," he said hoarsely, rubbing the center of his forehead and closing his eyes. "He's done that a couple a times before. Mess around with the iron in your blood. Gives you a right headache… I think I'm… gonna… I'm…huh…" John promptly passed out, falling onto his stomach across the ground.

Cursing under her breath, Wanda knelt down beside him, not much minding the dirt she was getting on herself. After rolling him over onto his back, she very carefully checked his pulse, feeling a bit distressed to see the faint outline of a hand on his neck, purplish and dark. It was even more painful for her to think about the fact that he had endured that on her behalf.

But he seemed okay, and she could feel him breathing beneath her hand on his chest. His heart rate still felt normal as well. He was okay. Thank the heavens! She didn't know what she would do if something happened to him… even though he was her hostage and she wasn't _supposed _to care… wait…

...John was free.

She bit her bottom lip, and glanced back to Magneto, who was a distant shadow on the icy ground. He had been taken care of, so John was free. He _wasn't_ her hostage anymore.

Somewhere nearby, there was a soft rustle. And then… footsteps, from within the house Magneto had been in. Wanda gasped, and threw her arms around John's body, attempting to pull him up. They had to get out of here; it would ruin everything Wanda had planned if someone discovered them here.

She managed to get John up, and, almost physically dragging him, she managed to get out of the backyard and back to the jeep, which was thankfully far enough away that it wouldn't matter if they sat around for awhile. He was probably going to wake up soon; Wanda knew from experience that passing out never lasted long unless there were drugs involved. She carefully sat John on the edge of the passenger seat and after sitting beside him in the driver's seat, she gently shook his shoulders, making sure not to harm him anymore than he already was.

It took a few moments of gentle shaking and several light pats on the face to rouse him. "Huh?" he asked, straightening himself up like he had just been electrocuted. He glanced around anxiously, and then looked up at her in mild confusion.

"You fainted," she informed him. "That happens sometimes when the blood flow in your brain is interfered with. How do you feel?"

"Sorry…" John put his hand to his forehead again. "Um… I'm a bit dizzy." He frowned thoughtfully, and then met her gaze. "Are you alright? Did you… get what you wanted to do… done?"

"Yes," Wanda said curtly, in an 'end-of-discussion' tone.

John nodded, understanding. He lowered his hand, looking down. "I hope... I helped you... a little."

She felt a tiny smile creep across her face. "You did help." She paused. "Thank you," she added softly, looking down at his hands in his lap, feeling slightly embarrassed because she was not used to thanking people for help, not at all. No one had ever really done anything nice for her before to warrant her thanks. It was all very odd.

He leaned back in the seat, seeming somewhat more relaxed than when he had first awoken. "Well, you're welcome, love. Glad I could be of service."

Wanda bit her lower lip, half wanting to disappear to hide her redness and half wanting to kiss him like her life depended on it, in appreciation. But instead of any of that, she blurted, "Why, John? Why did you help me?"

John shifted uncomfortably in his chair and gave a small shrug. "I dunno. He was bad to all of us, wasn't he? I was only trying to help you a bit." He frowned. "You needed help."

"Look at your neck," she said, feeling something ache inside, and she leaned increasingly closer, so he would hear her lowered voice. "It looks _terrible_… don't you care about yourself? At all? Why would you risk all that for me… me and _my_ goal?"

He regarded her with a degree of interest, noticing how close she was. "Didn't I tell you I liked to live on the edge?"

Wanda rolled her eyes. "Of course," she said sarcastically. "You _love_ getting manhandled. How could I _ever_ forget?"

"I especially love it when _you_ do it," he said, smirking.

She pursed her lips, unsure of what she should say to that. She hesitated before speaking a painful thought that was beginning to become very apparent to her. "You know… you're free now, John."

There was a silence. John's mouth opened, but words did not come. "Oh," he finally said. "Oh. Well… alright." There was a beat of silence. "I suppose that's exciting."

Wanda frowned to herself, feeling a startling, dreadful sensation of loss. Actually speaking the words made it seem so much more… real. So this pitiful moment in the cold weather and sudden silence was going to be the last time she was with him?

She cleared her throat, turning and putting her hands to the steering wheel. "Well, I guess I'll just… take you home now…"

"Right." John reached back, hurriedly pulling his seatbelt on while she started the car. He pulled the big, vibrant blanket out again, and wrapped around her shoulders without any instruction from her. Wanda swallowed in apprehension, feeling a sensation akin to her heart doing jumping jacks as he scooted up close to her again. Just like last time, except this time she felt closer to him. Not physically, but some sort of unfamiliar and peaceful internal closeness.

With an awful sense of foreboding, Wanda began to drive.

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"Well…" Wanda said, and her voice sounded far away; she felt strangely disconnected from herself. "Here we are, John."

"Here we are," he repeated thoughtfully, remaining beside her.

There was a long pause. Wanda reached down and pressed the button on his seatbelt to unbuckle him. John swallowed apprehensively.

"I'm not going to see you again, am I?" he asked, peering meekly up at her.

"I don't know," Wanda shrugged, wanting to grab him by his hands and keep him forever. He had been there for her, even if it hadn't been his choice. It hadn't been his choice; perhaps she should just forget it all. But then… there were those little things that could not be denied… he hadn't been unkind. He hadn't spat or yelled or cursed like she had expected a hostage to do, especially one in his situation. Where on earth would she ever find someone who would endure her rage like he had? Someone who would still smile or kiss her on her finger after she had just hurt him? Someone who would still sort of… enjoy her company, no matter what she had done to wrong him. She needed that. She didn't want that to leave…

"Oh," John attempted a smile, but something about it seemed forced, fake. "Well… it certainly was memorable here… with you."

"It was," Wanda agreed, looking down at the steering wheel. There were a lot of things she had done with him; a lot of emotions that she had never known existed before she had begun dealing with him. Strange urges and unusual affections… he was sort of special, having been the only person who could have ever made her feel things like that.

"Well…" John raised his eyebrows imploringly. "Um… g'bye then."

She nodded, doing her best to give him a smile. He didn't look very happy for a person who was finally being set free after so long. She didn't want him to go… but she refused to tell him to stay; being needy like that was for suckers, people who weren't strong like she needed to be. Like she needed to be now.

But still… she should somehow do something to say goodbye in return—even if she knew her mouth and words weren't going to cooperate right now. She might say the entirely wrong thing and break down, which was not what she wanted to do, at all. Was there even a way to say goodbye to a person without using words? Something like a hug? Oh, but that was just too weird; Wanda had never really _hugged_ anyone before...

Wanda sighed in resignation and drew her arm around John's shoulders, giving him an awkward embrace of farewell. For one tiny moment, he seemed surprised at her unexpected gesture, but he got over it fairly quickly, wrapping his own arms around her midsection, hugging her in return. His body was very warm, just as it had been when she had first kidnapped him. Warm and comforting and almost like freedom, nothing like the cold sadness of her childhood. It was bizarrely pleasant to hug him, and that was why she let go so swiftly. She could not afford any more attachment to him. As if what she already felt wasn't bad enough.

John smiled at her, and Wanda felt his hand reach out and give her knee a soft pat, an action that felt oddly personal and slightly astonishing. She felt no inclination to murder him at the contact, which was all the more unusual. "Goodbye," she whispered, watching him as he climbed out of the car. She suddenly felt freezing in the absence of his body heat, but managed to wave at him as he waved from the doorway of the Acolyte Base she had kidnapped him from what seemed like years and years ago. She watched him open the front door and enter the Acolyte Base with a heavy feeing in her chest. Something wasn't right here. But what could possibly be wrong?

Well, she couldn't just sit here forever, in the cold with a dull pain in her heart. She had to get home, even if she took the longest way possible to get there.

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It was close to 11 pm when Wanda finally arrived home, shivering and teary eyed, with a flushed face and dirt on her pants. She wanted nothing more than to just go to bed, although the thought of being lonely again was really beginning to ache inside. She was going to go back up to her room, and she was probably going to be cold, as well as definitely lonely.

This was supposed to be her moment! Why wasn't she happy? She had just fulfilled her nearly lifelong goal, for heaven's sake! She should be bouncing off walls and enjoying life and singing songs of joy! But something felt like it was missing—and it certainly wasn't Magneto. Wanda felt her brows furrow in the middle. She knew exactly what it might be… but that just could not be what was making her so miserable. She refused to believe it.

Wanda reluctantly exited the car, not much wanting to go back into the house right now. But what else was there to do? She wiped her eyes, and opened the front door easily, even though it was well locked.

As she had expected, Pietro whooshed over at the sound of the door opening.

"Wanda!" he exclaimed, grabbing her by her shoulders. "Where have you been? I've been looking _all over_ for you; do you even know what time it is? You should have told someone you weren't going to be here—we were worried sick!"

Wanda regarded him skeptically, too tired to hex him away. "Go away, Pietro," she muttered, remembering that horrible fact—Magneto was _his_ father too…

"What's wrong with you?" Pietro demanded, though he didn't sound angry. "You're all dirty—did someone attack you? Who was it? Just tell me who it was and I'll—"

"Pietro, stop," Wanda grabbed his hands off of her shoulders. She took a deep breath, feeling like she might break down if she said what had happened. This was too much. The truth was too painful—and she was going to be all alone once they found out; they'd probably lock her back up. What if they locked her up again? She wouldn't be able to deal with that… oh no, they weren't going to take her back, no way, no how!

"Wanda…" Pietro seemed frightened now. "Tell me what happened."

"It's nothing!" she exclaimed, breaking away from him and storming up the stairs, hoping in vain that he might leave her alone, but he sped in front of her, his hands stubbornly placed on his hips.

"Wanda, come on," he started, biting his lips. "Just say the word, and I'll make their life hell for you… if you just tell me _who_."

"Get out of my way!" Wanda elbowed him, knowing that knocking him into the wall wasn't going to stop him.

Pietro changed tactics. "Come on... I'll tell father that—"

Quick as lightening, Wanda reached back and slapped Pietro, effectively cutting him off like the most menacing glare could not. Harder than she had _ever_ hit John, and certainly with more fury. How dare he not leave her alone when she told him to? How dare he even _think_ about tattling on her, _again? _How dare he have the nerve to demand to know what was wrong when he hadn't even had the nerve to try and break her out of the asylum when she needed him? And how _dare_ he bring up their father?

Pietro, who had probably never been slapped by anyone in the past because of his extreme speed, acted as though he had just sustained a very severe injury. It had been quite an unpleasant surprise, and Wanda hit exceptionally hard.

"Hey!" he exclaimed weakly, holding onto the side of his face and appearing very emotionally and physically hurt.

Wanda shoved him into the wall, her hand pressing his chest so he could not get away. "He's dead," she said in a low, shaky voice. "So shut up and leave me alone. I want to be alone." Falser words had never been spoken. Wanda wanted comfort and company. Anything but loneliness.

Pietro frowned at her, still holding onto his face gingerly, protesting, "No he's not!"

"He is," Wanda said, taking a deep breath. "Me and—I mean… I... killed him."

She felt a tiny pang in her heart, recalling, yet again, how John had helped her out when she hadn't even asked. She wouldn't have been able to succeed without him.

"But…" Pietro shook his head. "No. I don't believe you. _I_ don't even know where he is; why would he tell _you?_"

"He didn't," she said flatly. "I found out on my own."

"No!" Pietro lowered his hand from his face, revealing a bold crimson mark across his pale cheek. Wanda didn't know if she felt too guilty about it. "I don't believe you!"

"Fine, _don't_ believe me!" Wanda snapped. "I don't care. Just go to that stupid house and see for yourself." She stepped away from him and folded her arms across her chest sullenly. "It's 471 Walnut Street."

Pietro stared at her in disbelief for a long moment. "Fine," he retorted, glaring at her angrily. He remained in place for a moment, as if hoping she would tell him she was joking, but then eventually took off, leaving a soft breeze behind him.

Wanda scowled at the spot he had been standing in, and then slammed her bedroom door behind her as she entered her room. It was a very cold night. And she was probably the only one awake in the house at this hour.

What was Pietro going to do? There was no doubt in her mind that he would be unhappy. Would he take the body to the hospital or something; would he call the cops? Would he betray her and make her go back to that asylum? Surely Pietro would not do that to her… although she didn't really know what to think—it wasn't as if he had come running to rescue her when she had needed it. Everything that Wanda had ever needed or wanted had been taken away from her. She had needed her family, but they had locked her away. She had needed companionship, but the boys hid away from her in fear. She hated to admit it, but she had sort of needed John in a really small way-- to talk with and sit beside-- like a friend almost, but now he was gone, too.

All gone. This room was freezing cold and eerily silent, much like the terrible memories of the cruel place she had spent her childhood in. It just wasn't fair. Now that she had finally avenged her lost childhood, she was feeling miserable. Not fair, not fair, not fair…

She was supposed to be free right now, but… she wasn't. Somehow, she wasn't satisfied. Wanda hugged her blanket around her shoulders, trying to warm herself, remembering how she had wrapped John in here what seemed like so long ago. The memory only made it hurt more, though. She may have been free of Magneto, but she was not free of the little pangs and tremors of her heart. And her heart had never acted up as much as it was doing now. She wanted to feel contentment, for once in her life, but she couldn't. Was it too much to ask for?

She just felt cold. And she felt lonely, too.

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_Wait until you guys see what Magneto's fate is. It will not be what you expect. ;-D REVIEW, please!!! _

…_review!!_


	14. A Perfect Punishment

_A/N: It's triple 7 day! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this one. John is not in this chapter, but I promise that he will make up for it in the next one. Here we have a bit of Wanda and Pietro starting to resolve their issues with each other, and the fate of Magneto. Yay! This is the second to last chapter. That makes reviews MORE and MORE important!!! Read and review, please :D_

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There was something about killing a man and then getting rid of something very dear to one's heart that really put things in perspective for Wanda.

She had been lying on her bed in the cold silence for hours and hours, with her large blanket wrapped around her shoulders to at least stop her shivering. She tried to keep her mind blank of all thoughts, but occasionally; one or two little things would sneak through her defenses. One of the most annoying, persistent little thoughts was: If she still had John, she wouldn't have been cold, not one little bit.

Well… it did no good to dwell on this, did it? Although she could have easily gone back to that base, what excuse could she possibly give for being there? _'Oh, I miss you, and I wanted to visit.'_ That would be demeaning on so many levels… and there was no way Wanda Maximoff was going to admit that she missed anyone. She was having a hard time believing it _herself_; how could she _ever_ admit something like _that_ to another?

The digital clock in her room flashed the numbers 1:29 AM at her, making Wanda wonder what Pietro had gone off for. What would Pietro do when he discovered the lifeless body of the man who had aided in their creation but had done nothing more for her? She wondered if he would hate her for this... would she even _care_ if he hated her? Didn't she dislike him as well? He was only her brother, after all.

There was a light rustle outside her bedroom door, and Wanda turned her head to look at it, wondering vaguely who was up and moving around this house. Maybe there wasn't even anything; maybe it was just the wind. Maybe she was too distracted to focus on anything of real importance right now. It had to have been all the action of the night... all the emotions...

Her door flew open, and Wanda glared at the easily recognizable silhouette of her brother in the doorway. "Get out of here!" she growled, in no mood to talk to anyone. Especially not Pietro.

"You have to come with me," Pietro said, approaching her cautiously although it was quite obvious that she had no desire for him to be anywhere near her.

"Why?" she asked sullenly, glaring as he deposited himself at the foot of her bed. "Where?"

"Father's in the hospital," he informed her, leaning slightly to the side so he could run in the very likely event that her rage flared up. "I brought him there."

"Great," Wanda snapped, pulling her covers tighter around herself, wishing he would just leave.

"The police are there, too," Pietro added, as if he hadn't heard her interrupt.

Wanda sat up. She stared at him for a long moment. "_Why?_"

"_Because,_" he said emphatically. "Come on, we have to go—"

She grabbed his forearm so suddenly that he jumped and let out a squawk of surprise. "What did you tell them?" she demanded, painfully tugging on him to meet her angry eyes.

"Nothing," he said hastily. "Really. I saw them through the window and then came straight here to get you. They're obviously gonna question us, since we're his kids. You have to come too."

"You can do it by yourself," Wanda growled, releasing his arm, which now had a bright red mark on it.

"But _Wanda_..." Pietro whined, rubbing the red spot; it was quite clear that he wanted nothing to do with being questioned alone in a room full of government officials.

Wanda pursed her lips, glaring at him in agitation. It wasn't as if she could just tell the police that she had killed her father in revenge for everything that had gone wrong in her childhood because of him. They'd probably sympathize, but the law really wouldn't be on her side here. Perhaps she _shouldn't_ go… but what would she do here, alone? She didn't want to sit around here and mope about what she had lost. At least not now.

Now was _NOT _a time to think about people who made her heart beat go all out of whack.

"Okay, let's go," Wanda said reluctantly, and felt the pull of her brother speeding the two of them to a hospital.

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The hospital was almost all white. The walls, the dirty tiled floors, the bed sheets of the patients getting wheeled by… Wanda glared at her brother, knowing that he was fully aware of how similar this building was to that infernal place she had spent her childhood in. He ignored the glare, steering her by her shoulder into a room labeled 7B. Pietro opened the door for Wanda, standing away from her and the rest of the people in the room.

There were a few suited governmental looking people surrounding the bed where Magneto lay, hooked up to several machines, the heart monitor beeping regularly. Wanda whirled around to face her brother, feeling her face grow red with anger. "You didn't tell me he was _alive_!" she hissed, but two of the federal people approached.

"Look, Wanda..." Pietro started, wrapping one arm around her shoulder in a protective brother gesture that Wanda couldn't shrug off because of the agents suddenly surrounding them.

"So, you two must be the children," interrupted one of the government agents. "My name is Detective Smith. We are so sorry about the situation, but we need to hear what's happened here. This man was a very powerful mutant, and something that could put him in this state is worth investigating. So, can you two tell us what happened?"

Pietro looked at Wanda, who blanched as she realized that they were all looking to her for an explanation. "Uhh…" she said, feeling her voice falter. What could she say? "Well…"

"It's okay, Wanda," Pietro said confidently, squeezing her closer with the arm around her. "She's still shocked about all this," he explained to the agents nonchalantly. Wanda would have smacked him if it weren't for the situation. "_I'll_ explain. See, we were visiting our father here, when he suddenly got angry for some reason—bad temper, you know—and he attacked! He threw the TV set and soda cans and the microwave at us, like he was trying to kill us or something! Well, my sister and I just aimed to stop the assault, but we accidentally knocked him out, and I guess, here he is."

"So, you two are mutants as well?" asked the detective with an arched eyebrow.

"_Yes_," Pietro said defiantly, subconsciously hugging Wanda tighter to himself and ignoring her scowl. He abruptly changed the subject. "So, can you tell us what is going on here with him? Is he going to make it?"

"It's touch and go," said a nurse, checking on the IVs and other tubes. "The interesting thing is that his brain activity is all normal, but all the motor skills and movement aren't working at all." He frowned. "So, he is aware of everything going on, but cannot move."

"So he can hear us?" Wanda asked.

"Oh yes," the nurse nodded, bustling over to the other side of the hospital bed. "It's doubtful that he'll ever wake up, though. It might be more humane to just euthanize him, rather than to let the man be trapped in his own body like that. No one deserves _that_."

"Oh… no!" Wanda said, straightening herself. _She _had been trapped in her own body once, when she had been tied up into a straitjacket for ten years! _She _had been aware of everything that had been happening around her! _She _had dealt with such inhumanity, and it was all because of this man _here_! Why, if _anyone_ deserved to be trapped in their own body like that, then it was _certainly_ her father. "No," she repeated, knowing that she couldn't tell them her true motives in this case. "We… we can't give up _hope_! We can't just cut him off! What if… what if he wakes up next week or something? We can't just give _up_!"

"Darling, I know it's hard," the nurse said understandingly. "But it just isn't right to…"

Wanda knew that if ever was a time to be over dramatic, this was it. She burst into pretend tears, and buried her face into her brother's shirt, making loud, fake crying sounds. Pietro, who had always been remarkably quick on the uptake, embraced her and rubbed her back sympathetically with one hand. "It's okay, Wanda," he assured her. "I'm sure we can always sue them."

"Sweetie, you have to understand," the nurse said gently, while the government agents backed away, as if the sight of a young girl crying was indecent. "There is _no_ chance he will _ever_ wake up. You know it wouldn't be right to keep someone hanging on like that. You wouldn't want that. Sometimes death is better…"

Wanda let out a little scream of false anguish. "He always w-wanted to hang on…" she continued. "He n-never w-would've given up…" She attempted a hiccup. "There's st-still hope…"

"Of course there is," the nurse patted Wanda's shoulder, seeming quite affected by the emotional-ness of this girl who didn't want to lose her father. "Don't worry darling; I won't let anything bad happen. We'll see what we can do." The nurse gave Wanda a final pat, offering, "I'll go get you some tissues."

"Yes, p-please…" Wanda said, and she heard the footsteps fade away as the nurse left the room.

"We'll go now," said Detective Smith. "Perhaps we'll be in touch at a later date."

There was rustling and movement. Wanda didn't dare look up until she was certain that she and Pietro were alone.

"Well, don't _you_ deserve an Emmy," Pietro said wryly.

"Why, thank you," Wanda said, smiling broadly, stepping away from him and crossing her arms. "What do we do now? I don't want them to kill him. He deserves to endure what I had to go through."

"I gathered as much," Pietro said, frowning to himself.

Wanda smirked. "Well, good." She glanced at the little waiting area couch, feeling slightly awkward even though she had only technically been _pretend_-hugging her brother. It still was weird. She pressed her lips into a firm line. "Why did you stick up for me, Pietro?" she asked quietly.

"I'm just trying to make things right," Pietro said, shrugging a bit. "I know you aren't gonna just wake up and forget everything, but I want you to know I'm trying. I don't want to be the world's worst brother."

Wanda inclined her head thoughtfully. "You're not, I guess. There _could_ be worse." He could have blamed it all on her. He could have _not_ cooperated during her overly dramatic moment. He could have let the silence hang in the air when those people had asked what had happened, and this entire situation could have been a whole lot worse. He really was trying. And she had given him a big bruise on his cheek and one possibly on his arm from grabbing him so tightly. Pietro bruised like a banana. Perhaps that was payback enough for failing to rescue her. Those marks would be there for at least a week.

She sighed to herself, putting her hands to her hips. "Are you going to stay here?"

"I don't know," Pietro said. "Are you tired? You can lie down in this waiting area if you want. I bet if you ask the nurse for a blanket you'll get one. Especially since you're all 'emotional' and everything. The chairs are comfortable. I'll just walk around or something."

"I'm not tired," Wanda said distractedly. "I think I'll go home."

"Want a lift?" he offered, inclining his head.

"No, it's fine," Wanda assured him, waving him off. "I need the fresh air."

"Well, okay," he nodded, not wanting to disagree with her when they were on okay terms, as it was such a rare occasion. "I'll see you later, then."

"Yeah," Wanda nodded to herself, heading to the door. She put her hand on the knob and stared at it, trying to mentally prepare herself for the words she so seldom said, _especially _to her brother. She opened the door, and frowned pensively. "Thank you, Pietro," she said softly. She didn't look back to see if he had heard. Half of her hoped that he hadn't. She closed the door behind herself, and began the long trek home, in the cold rain.

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_I think Wanda would think THIS turn of events is better payback than just killing Magneto. _

_It was short, I know! Argh, don't kill me! Next chapter is the last one! Wipe the tears from your eyes and review :D_

_REVIEW!!!_


	15. Kind Of

_A/N: LAST CHAPTER!!!!! I have minorly edited a few of the earlier chapters so that little things make more sense and there aren't as many mistakes. But it's nothing too big that will change anything. Yay!_

_I know that comas can be broken out of, especially if Professor X is one of your friends. But as of this point, the X-men don't know what has even happened, and I'm sure that when they find out, it won't be in this story. I just wanted Wanda to kind of have some closure for now. :)_

_As for this chapter, I have this to say: JONDA. Please try not to die at my pathetic attempts at romance. ;D Well, this IS the last chapter—sniffle—so reviews will be cherished forever. PLEASE read and review!_

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Everything was perfect.

Magneto had been taken care of. Wanda was kind of getting along with Pietro. The boys weren't pestering her _too_ much, just simple greetings and basic questions and for now, and that wasn't so bad. Things were getting better, and it had only been a few days. Exactly 3 days, in fact, had passed since Wanda had released John. After coming home from her visit to the hospital, she had slept, ate, and slept some more. All those days had gone down the drain, with no productivity whatsoever, with almost no way to tell the days apart from one another. She had barely even spoken through them. Something seemed off.

And everything did not _feel_ perfect.

Wanda glared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she brushed her teeth. She hated this feeling. The feeling of missing something. She had _always_ been missing something at the asylum, and she shouldn't be now. But there was nothing to do around here. She woke up, existed all day, and then went back to bed at night. There was nothing. It was too cold to roam outside, and no one living in the Brotherhood actually went to _school._ There was nothing.

She aggressively spit in the sink, and washed her brush off. Boring, boring, boring. Her entire day was practically over as it was. She had groomed herself, and now, all that was left to do was eat and exist for the rest of the day. She was under no obligations to do anything else. And there wasn't anyone worth talking to around here, either.

She sighed to herself and wandered out of the bathroom, absently smoothing the hair that stuck up on her head. She wasn't even hungry. What was the use of gaining twenty pounds when she wasn't even hungry? She had already eaten a respectable breakfast. She was eating like a depressed preteen who had been dumped. That was _not_ the way Wanda Maximoff behaved. She practically hated herself for it.

Wanda found herself in front of her bedroom door, assuming that she must have drifted here subconsciously. She felt like a zombie. There was no more thrill to existing. She didn't have to deal with anyone, or go through the ordeal of taking someone to the bathroom, and her emotions didn't get stirred up. She kind of... _wanted_ to get wound up. She wanted to feel extra angry or pleased or embarrassed or _anything. _Anything to show her that she was still living, and this wasn't just some long dream brought to her by drugs from the asylum. Oh… she _needed _those feelings. Her hostage had been the only one who had ever made her emotions twist around like that. And while it _was_ a hassle … it had been kind of nice, too. It was kind of nice to always have someone there, even if they weren't exactly there because of their will. It was kind of nice to have someone who understood what had happened to her, and who fought back sometimes. Without all that… it was dull. Life seemed extremely boring now.

God, she kind of missed him… ugh, how terrible was that to admit! She could _never_ tell anyone—they would most certainly laugh at her. Even John probably. Especially John. What kind of a person got attached to their _hostage_? A weak one, and that was the last thing Wanda wanted to be when she was supposed to be free. Ugh, she wished she could knock some sense into herself.

Wanda was about to turn away from her door and go downstairs or something, when she heard a scratching sound coming from within her room. Scratching and mumbling sounds. She pressed her ear to the door, frowning thoughtfully. It sounded like a hamster scratching the walls of its cage. What the hell could it be, in her room? It certainly wasn't a hamster.

There was only one answer that Wanda could think of. It must have been a burglar of some sort. A _stupid_ burglar, since anyone with eyes could read the huge "Brotherhood of Mutants" sign outside, and only an idiot would think to rob mutants. Well, maybe the robber had a weapon of some sort and thought they could take on several mutants at once with it.

Imbecile.

She opened and closed her fists, gathering energy within herself to knock down and freeze this burglar as soon as she opened the door. They were going to rue the day they messed with Wanda Maximoff, especially when she wasn't at her best. Stupid depression. Stupid John. Making her feel like pieces of her were missing. The nerve of him.

Wanda threw open her door, and immediately flung her hex bolt right at the person who was standing in the middle of the room, facing the window that they had just utilized to climb in here. It was a man, wearing a dark colored hooded jacket and jeans, and the hood was over his head.

"Aah!" he yelped, as he was knocked down onto his face on the floor. Although she was confident that he would be unable to freely move for a good while, she knelt beside him and pressed on his sides with her fingertips, checking him for contraband. He moaned. There was nothing concealed on his person, from what she could tell. She tugged at his hood, to expose his face.

"John!" she cried, frustrated. "You moron! What is _wrong_ with you?"

He mumbled something inaudible, and she shoved him over onto his back, so she could at least see him, and maybe hear him properly.

"You are _so_ stupid," she sighed to herself, sitting back a little and watching him breathe slowly. "Why couldn't you just use the front door like a _normal_ person?"

"I didn't want anyone else to know I was here," he said, groaning a little bit as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. "Well, I see _you're_ still as strong as ever."

Wanda pursed her lips, ignoring that. "Aww, were you afraid you were going to get attacked by the almighty Brotherhood?" she asked sarcastically.

"No," he said, leaning back on his elbows and smiling slightly. "I was afraid they wouldn't let me see you if I asked."

"So, you climbed up the side of the house," Wanda said, eyeing him suspiciously.

"It wasn't that hard," John gave a little shrug. "I've done things like that in training before. The hardest part was getting the actual window open and scooting in here. Because I'm still a bit injured from—"

"Why are you here?" Wanda interrupted, fixing her eyes somewhere that wasn't near his gaze, the zipper of his hooded jacket. It was half open, and Wanda was suddenly seized with an inexplicable desire to zip it down all the way. For no good reason. Well, maybe she wanted to touch him a little. See if he was still warm and all.

"Visiting," he said curtly, looking down at his front where her gaze rested. "Just wanted to see how you're doing."

"Whatever," Wanda said skeptically. "There's nothing here to interest you."

"_You_ interest me," John said, and Wanda felt her face get pink, the tiniest bit annoyed that he was doing this again to her. Even though she wanted it. Making her feel these petty little emotions, making her feel her insides squirm. Almost… making her complete again. Making her feel like she had been during those little times when she had been kind of happy.

"You're such an idiot," she whispered, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"But, Wanda, love, I'm _your_ idiot," he said dramatically, grinning crookedly at her.

Wanda's face burned red, torn between striking him and pulling him close… except if she did any of those things, he could easily fight back or reject her… he wasn't tied up and helpless anymore. But then again... he actually was here by will now. That had to count for something.

"What makes you say that?" she asked, glaring at that jacket's zipper for good measure.

"Technically, Magneto ain't dead," John told her, and she could feel his eyes watching her, even though she wasn't looking at his face. "That means I'm still yours, doesn't it?"

Wanda bit on her bottom lip, her eyes searching his shirt. "What are you _really_ here for, John?" she asked, looking up after a beat.

He inclined his head to the left. "I'm just trying to see how you're holding up here with no one to take out your aggressions on."

Wanda frowned, aware of a pang of guilt in her chest. "I didn't take out my aggression on you," she denied, hating that he was right.

"Now, you know that ain't true," John said, smiling affably at her. He sat up and unzipped the jacket, then lifted his shirt a little, exposing the bruises on his torso, marks of her frustration at her abandonment by Magneto. "Saw a doctor about that one," he said, pointing to the worst one. "Fractured two ribs, he said."

"Oh…" Wanda pursed her lips, feeling a bit more guilty, but also a little angry. Damn him for doing that! Making her feel uplifted and pleased, but then making her feel guilty and regretful. She had endured quite enough of that to last her the rest of her life. "Well… I'm sorry. I guess… maybe you'd better go now."

"Wait!" he grabbed her hand, as she began making a motion to stand up and get out. "Don't go! I was just—"

"Why?" Wanda demanded, cutting him off. "What do you want from me? You want to show me how badly I've hurt you? You want me to feel like shit again? Because I already spent ten _years_ of my life feeling that way, and I don't want anymore of it. Is an _apology_ what you want? Well, I'll tell you right now, then—I'm _SORRY._ I'm sorry for beating you up, for choking you, for trying to make you have an allergic reaction… for hurting you in _any_ way that I did during these past few days. For _everything._ I'm sorry, and I _never _meant to _ever_ feel the way I do now about _you_ or anything else. I didn't think that anything would ever happen the way it did, and I didn't think I would ever need y—"

She stopped herself from speaking anymore and glared irritably at him, as if this was entirely his fault. Well, it _was,_ kind of. Maybe not entirely. "Are you happy now?" she snapped.

John wet his lips distractedly, watching her expression with caution. "I kind of miss you," he said quietly, releasing her hand.

Wanda felt her glare dissolve instantly into an expression of surprise, which she tried to blink away so he couldn't tell. She hastily shut her mouth, as it had fallen open at the shock of the unexpected sentiment. "_What?"_ She breathed, unsure that she had even heard correctly.

"I miss you," he repeated, his voice softer, and this time he was the one looking down at his now unzipped jacket. "Kind of."

Wanda swallowed, her throat suddenly very dry. "Why?"

John gave an uncomfortable shrug, as if he hadn't expected her to ask such a thing. "Well, I don't know. I felt kind of bad about Magneto messing up your childhood, and so I knew it was _sort of_ a good cause. And you actually fed me and gave me clothes, and you didn't _really _hurt me. After how you treated me when you first kidnapped me, I expected you to hurt me a lot worse, but it wasn't that bad. Kind of."

"I was just trying to be humane," she said, in a tiny voice. He _missed_ her. Was that even possible after how she had been to him? _Humane_. That was a laugh. She had beaten him up because she had been angry at Magneto. Well, that was it. John was insane. There was no other explanation for it. But then… she had missed him too… she must have been crazy as well.

"_Plus_, you've got a lovely, fiery temper," he continued, grinning. "It's very memorable, and exciting. And you're very pretty, you gave me a lighter, you let me bathe _all_ by myself, _and_ you untied me!" He bounced up and down at that last one. "And you're a fun kisser, too!"

She frowned, feeling increasingly red, and as much as she loved the color, it just did not do for her face to match her shirt. "You tell me what you're _really_ doing here," she said angrily, quite determined to keep away from _that _topic. "And then maybe I'll tell you something, too."

John's eyebrows rose with perceived interest, as Wanda cursed herself for saying something like that. What could she tell him? That she had missed him too? That she felt bored out of her mind without him to occupy her? That she just needed him, in general? There was no way that she could ever tell him all that! "Like what?"

"Like nothing," she said flatly, folding her arms across her chest defiantly.

John leaned back on his elbows again. "I just wanted to see you. That's what I'm doing here. Now you tell me what you want to tell me."

"No," Wanda said, biting her lip, feeling her resolve slipping.

"I told _you_!" John protested, looking vaguely affronted. "Now you have to tell _me_."

"No I don't," she snapped, grabbing the front of his shirt in an iron grip, just barely fighting the urge to shake him. "You can't tell me what to do. Now shut up and go home."

He pursed his lips. "You can't tell me what to do, _either_. I ain't your hostage person anymore. I'm a free bird." He paused, and then dropped his elbows, to lay flat on his back. "And you can't make me go."

Wanda pressed her lips into a line, studying him carefully. She noticed how open to attack he was right now; she could easily punch him right in the gut and take him down—he wouldn't be expecting it one bit, and his arms were at his sides, not on the defensive. He was vulnerable; he was always the vulnerable one, tied up or exposed somehow… he had told her that he missed her. Maybe she _should_ tell him what she felt? About how badly it felt like she _needed_ him …But that was so unnecessary, though! Why did he even need to know? Why couldn't it all just be one big mystery and they could just go on, happily ever after, always wondering what _could have been? _

There were two things that could be. Either she didn't tell him or she did.

If she _didn't_ tell him, she would have to watch him leave again, and dwell forevermore about how boring things were when she was alone, but how alive she felt when he was with her, the emotions, the warmth, the rage, the passion. All that wondering and feelings of loss just because she didn't want him to know that she just plain _needed_ him; that she wasn't the independent, strong, in-control girl she had always intended on being when she became free—she was dependent on him in some incomprehensible little way that mattered the most. And she would always wonder _what could have been. _

But then, if she _did_ tell him… who knew? Anything could happen if she told him! But at least she would not suffer the _what could have been_ thoughts that would plague her otherwise.

Wanda watched his face carefully, his eyes dancing with little lights, little lights all keenly focused on her. She could not look at his eyes and tell him something so… foolish; it would just be too intense, too sappy. But didn't she owe it to him, kind of? After everything she had done to him, it couldn't hurt either of them to be somewhat vulnerable, could it?

She glared down at him, hoping to frighten him, just a little, but all he did was shift slightly and smile. She had forgotten. He was not afraid of her, though he had the most right to be. Well, _fine_ then. She would tell him. And she would do it in a way that he wouldn't ever forget, either.

It would probably be best to tell him as quietly as humanly possible so that it might have been passed off as a dream, or the wind, in case he rejected it. Trying not to think about that, Wanda released her grip on his shirt and put her hand up to his face, gently turning his head away as she lowered herself beside him. Eye contact was not for now. Feeling him try to turn his face back to her, she pressed her lips against his ear, feeling his body shiver in response… although it wasn't even cold in here.

Wanda felt a degree of anxiety, because of the knowledge of what she had to do and because of the feeling of her lips grazing his skin with no real reason to do so. She couldn't help but take a small bit of pleasure at the fact that she was so very close to John and he didn't even _try_ to protest. Maybe he didn't want to. He only breathed and trembled at the numerous kisses she placed on the curve of his ear, and Wanda could tell that these weren't unpleasant reactions. She felt a shockwave go through her when the unexpected, light pressure of John's hand patted the back of her head, his fingers burying themselves in her dark hair—he had never really made such a huge physical advance on her before, only those little things, and that kiss—of course, the opportunity had never _really _arisen… Wanda swallowed apprehensively--she was _sure_ he wouldn't reject her, he just _wouldn't_…

Her voice was at the quietest that it could possibly ever go, and she was glad that she couldn't see whatever lights and expressions were dancing in his eyes. "I kind of… need... you," she admitted, her heart hammering so loudly in her chest that she was sure he could hear it louder than her voice. _Ugh!!!_ She _hated_ herself for making it sound so… stupid! She briefly wanted to die right there, breathing against him and keeping her eyes shut tight. Oh, she _never_ wanted to move away because then she would have to make eye contact and deal with whatever grave consequences there were because of her blundering words! She could feel him smile against her hand.

"Now, why would you need a mad bloke like me?" he asked, turning his face a touch toward hers, as she didn't seem about to move away.

Wanda made sure to keep her eyes away from his. "I don't know…" she shrugged into him, still sullen about her moronic words, although she felt a sudden inordinate amount of relief at the fact that she had told him as much as she had. She couldn't possibly tell him that he made her feel _alive._ There was just no way she could express that without sounding like a bigger sap than she already was. _That_ would just have to stay the deep, dark secret it was for right now. "I just don't know," she repeated, turning her face downwards into his warm shoulder.

She liked to be close to him… to feel the bizarre sensation of him running his fingers through her hair; it was something that she had never, ever felt before… John made her feel all these sensations, all the weird feelings, all these new things that she had never been familiar with before… never, ever… was this how normal people were?

"We're just chock-fulla problems, aren't we?" he murmured, and she could feel his lips moving on her hair. "I kind of _like_ you and you kind of _need _me…"

Wanda carefully dropped her hand against his shoulder. "I thought you just _missed_ me," she said, peering tentatively up at him, her fingers moving back to his wrinkled shirt.

"Well, now why would I _miss_ you if I didn't _like_ you, huh?" John watched her smooth out the wrinkles she had created earlier in his shirt with her free hand. He raised his eyes up to hers again, smiling brazenly. "And if I'm not mistaken, I'm pretty sure you must like me quite a bit yourself. Especially if you _need_ me and all."

"You're just saying that because I kissed your ear," Wanda accused, feeling highly self-conscious for admitting so much.

John grinned and abruptly threw his arms around her, pulling her tight against himself, and before she could even realize that she was close enough to feel his heart beating on her chest, his lips were against hers, pleasant and warm and full of the most overwhelming passion that Wanda had ever known in her entire life. She reciprocated the kiss, re-wrinkling his poor shirt with her fist, and after a long, deeply involved moment, she carefully pulled away, leaning over, still incredibly near.

She felt alive. Things like these were what life was all about, or how else could she feel so alive? There was no more locked up princess in a cold, lonely tower. She was free now, with meaningful arms around her and a room that felt hot with something kind of like passion. She was not trapped, and neither was John. She was not forcing him to be here; he _wanted_ to be here. Maybe that was what really mattered.

Wanda thoughtfully stroked the side of John's face, trying to stifle her smile. "I owe you something, don't I?"

John's eyes went very wide with shock and his mouth moved, but no words escaped. With a wicked, wicked smirk, Wanda bent down and kissed his speechless lips.

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THE END!

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_A/N: Let your imagination work its magic. And please, drop me one final REVIEW. :D _

_I put a lot of work into this story, as a whole, so thank you all for reading. _

_--Valoofle--_

_(PS: If anyone is unsure about what she owes him… read chapter 10 again. ;) )_


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